My Muse
(to Dad)

My Muse lies beside you,
chilled stiff by autumn nights
within the clay.
I wish she would resurrect
herself, pushing grayed limbs
upward through the earth
between the yellow leaves.
Maybe I could take a spade,
dig sharply through ground
dried hard by my scarcity of tears
upon your death
and drag her free.
Would any amount of breath
dispel the numbness from her lips?
 
Perhaps my Muse lies
not beneath the earth,
but within the toughened
folds around my heart
that never bled for you.
My Muse might not be dead,
nor asleep
but prodding me patiently
from inside, to feel the pain
of missing you.
 
Scott Speck
10/20/2000