Words for the Chisel (collection)/Elegy in Dialogue

by Genevieve Taggard

Elegy in Dialogue

See . . . we find pathways
All overgrown,
Prod on old spider,
Turn a damp stone,
Until in a loop a spider spun
We start at a silver skeleton.

This is death—this exquisite
Quiver of hollow coral. Try—
The delicate thing is all awry—
Put it in order, gently, knit
These dangling stems together tight;
Put on the flesh, put in the light,
Peer at the wee imagined face,
Pretend—you cannot—pretend you can
Start a little thud in the skeleton man.

So we shall struggle—you or I!

One of us will shortly die
And leave the other alone in the end
Stunned, too weary to pretend.

—Is this death? This delicate tangle,
Caprice of bones at an uneasy angle?

This is the trellis-frame beneath
The bruised and crumbling spray of death.

Death is a reckless lunge—a sprawl
Of naked limbs on a narrow wall.

So shall we struggle, you or I,
One of us will shortly die
And leave the other a callow mask
Or an idiot smile to remember by,
And a granite body to conjure and turn.

Against such massive unconcern
One will labor. The other lie
Tall and quiet. Tell me why. . . .