In The Dark

In the Dark
for Ibolya Ryan

Today darkness comes for you while
the rest of us pause, thankful
our blood, for this moment,
beats where it belongs.

Over lunch with our lovers we say,
poor woman in the wrong place, poor
us for having to think about blood
instead of Christmas, poor world,
we say, what would Jesus think
until we see the dessert tray.

Short life. Uncertainty. Cheesecake.

Your blood, an embarrassment
of riches yesterday when you
drove to work, digested lunch,
raced your corpuscles into
a rigadoon of palpitated longing
for the one, or maybe two,
you desired

Now will be your remembrance,
your condolence less like Hallmark
then Shakespeare, a trail of petals
dropped upon the tile, the rue of winter
flowers even Ophelia could never name.