WHY ARE YOU GRIEVING ABIGAIL?
Why are you grieving Abigail?
Does this girl who is pale as a white rock, sadden you?
Is it her pallid hair-mop that thickens your teardrops?
Do her chill strands weave a ghost message unto you?
Look, her flared eyes wide beneath sealed lids are fixed on you;
Hear them speak, they say, "Better unexposed."
What does that mean Abigail?
Wait, was it not yesterday, you despised her?
Into tombstone and illness, you condemned her?
Did you not say, "She disgraced the family,"
And corked your mother in a jar of grief and headache?
While a poor child, motherly love surrendered in scorched fields,
Slaved feet plowed up plates, so by and by she knew no hunger.
Does her ungratefulness awe you
That she criticized your mother, "You are not a good ma!"?
Still, why mother loves her most and could not once say, "No."
Do you grieve because she could not keep a word?
Promises she forgot, bundled high in attic piles.
Speak now, why are your hands cemented upon her head;
They do not move and rest like the selfish stone you touch?
Why, you must grieve because she can never be redeemed.
Then why are you grieving Abigail?
Does your body which lies before you, sadden you?
Does your phantom spirit know now the stroke of your mother?
