Today's poem is by Rebecca Lehmann

Paper Skeleton Villanelle
       

You're as dead as the paper skeleton I hang
from my door. Dead as you, hanged man, cold clod.
Inside the house, my living husband and my kids

are rearranging time, and I join them, ticking,
letting go your skeletal hand. No, it's burned up.
No, buried and dead—your paper skeleton.

In an old photograph I see you.
You flicker into being. Inchoate. Negative image.
Inside the house, someone else's husband and kids.

We slow dance in the yard, amid the discard foliage.
You're dying to dip me. I lip your frozen breaths.
In death, your skeleton crumples like paper

in my palms. Your hands slip. I gather you up.
A bridal train. A black lace veil. Your ghastly sight.
Inside the house, my living husband and my kids

can't see you. They are busy with the light.
I push you to the gutter, filled with leaves.
You're dead as the paper skeleton I hang
inside my house, to entertain my husband and my kids.

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Copyright © 2023 Rebecca Lehmann All rights reserved
from Copper Nickel
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission