A Hymn for One: To all our Sisters Stuck to a Floor
I’ve heard Mnemosyne was first To pull out her hair by the handful, She said, if not, my head would simply burst From memory, clear and cruel. For pictures she would pose in a wig Though this beauty felt untrue, So she made a hat out of leaf and sprig And said ‘my art will have to do’.
Below, Maggie Moon was kept astir By a common, quiet fear That her spirit was falling out of her Into the hands of whoever was near. They dangled it above her, teasingly, And when she failed to make them smile It was tucked under an arm like a baby And hidden for a long, long while.
To all our sisters stuck to a floor Fear not your body of stone, Lift your head, you can’t sleep through a war, Rise up And fight for life As your own.
And little Nell liked climbing trees Though it set her quite apart, Her parents frowned and her friends, they teased Till she faded from a muddled heart. The trees all shed their leaves in distress, And called out to her gentle ghost, ‘Why is it that those that love the best Are the ones who suffer the most?’
To all our sisters stuck to a floor Grieve not how dead you may feel, There is joy for us Worth fighting for, And peace, which I’ve heard Is real.