Issue Thirty - Summer 2017

The Young Widow

By Jess Mills

I will put on widows’ weeds. 
Everyone will see my sorrow.  
In  shops, women
will purse up their smiles, 
avert their eyes
from the cross-hatch 
of my short, black veil.
Children will cease 
their loud, incessant play,
back themselves 
against their mothers’ knees,
and stare at me 
with round eyes.
The whisper 
of my long black skirts will say
          I am dead.  
          I am ashes.
Let all who step aside to let me pass
halt their lucky lives and tremble. 
Let  no one laugh.  
Let no one speak of dancing.
I am black with fury, I am red with rage.
You, my only love, 
you shrouded my body
in a costume of despair
and you left me here 
in the company of wraiths.

Copyright Mills 2017

Jess Mills 's poetry has been published in a number of journals throughout the country including Seattle Review, Kalliope, Connecticut River Review, Tar River Poetry, Snowy Egret, Red Wheelbarrow and Santa Clara Review. One of her poems was selected by the Washington Poetry Association as a William Stafford award winner, and she has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is recently retired and delighted to have moved to Wenatchee, Washington.

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