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Poe and His Women

by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

Ligeia, Annabel Lee, and Berenice,
Supernal beauties, pleasing to the eye,
Were temporary mates and marble-cheeked
Like timeless funerary monuments.

Tremaine’s Rowena, Lady Madeline,
Insidiously felled and pushed offstage,
Had met goth’s Mister Goodbar on the page.

First, females got top billed — then burying.
What makes an author kill his heroines?

Recognizing a woman’s grave could be
His open throat, death-bed vows memorized,
Poe’s pen despaired of daylight’s finitude.

Clocks ticking, wasted time, reminded him
The coffin waits and pages lie half-done
In desolation. Anonymity’s
Curse frightens writers more than Roderick
Encountering his sister’s open crypt.

Unholy was the hesitation left behind,
His desk in disarray, the inkwell filled,
Quills conjured up another sinister
Enchantress. Edgar’s poised to start again.

Copyright © 2019 by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

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