Carrie Viscome Skinner

Two Poets


I cannot weep
for the majesty of
their words –
they wrote them in
earnest upon the
wrinkled pain
of their souls
climbed their hills
in green and blue
pumps, stockings clipped
at their thighs
skirts hanging limp
from their hips singing
into the waves of
caressed sentences
they wove like starlight
over our hearts.
I will not weep
for their ended lives
clutched within the pages
of a selected poem.
I will make them pay
for their inspiration with
words of my own.

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