Words for the Chisel (collection)/Elegy in Dialogue

by Genevieve Taggard

Elegy in Dialogue

See . . . we find pathwaysAll overgrown,Prod on old spider,Turn a damp stone,Until in a loop a spider spunWe start at a silver skeleton.

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

So we shall struggle—you or I!

One of us will shortly dieAnd leave the other alone in the endStunned, too weary to pretend.

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

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

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

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

Against such massive unconcernOne will labor. The other lieTall and quiet. Tell me why. . . .