I want to know, Mr. Poe

Desperate to have him with me

I bought a bust of Pallas Athena

to put over my study door

I bought a bright red cushion

to sit center while I weep and sigh

and languish for his true love

I miss him enough to seek

supernatural help, and hope

he will walk in even as an owl

to hoot "who" whenever I say

I cannot let him go again ever

that I rue the unfair year apart

Before he died, that unfair year 

when we were too angry to stay 

and too stubborn to speak while

never wanting nor hurting more

and then, the heart attack came

and took him with no goodbyes 

O, Mr. Poe, tell me about the year

before you  lost your Leonore

Were you sweet?  Did you speak?

Did you embrace and kiss her face?

Or were you more like an angry crow

with no wits to know how fast it goes?

And most of all, Mr. Poe, I want to know

whether your Raven became welcome

or no?  Was it forever punishment,

or is it reward?  Was it inner or outer, 

called or sent . . .  I have to know!  What 

meant the bird?  Relief or horror?

I'm leaning here on my pillow waiting

for the knock I know will come, and I

will have him near again, my dear,

whatever your answer.  The wind 

ceases, the day leaves, and I sense a

presence just beyond my door, now

I'm leaning here on my pillow, staring

at Athena's bust.  Did she hear a knock,

I wonder?  Did I?  The hairs on my arms

did, I am certain.  It is time to open the door--

and yet I lean here and hesitate to go

What is there to fear, I want to know . . . 

Posted for Fireblossom Friday: Do You Believe In Magic? on Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads, where Fireblossom asks us to write something of which Edgar Allan Poe would be proud.   I have written to Mr. Poe as the author of "The Raven" and perhaps the lover of a lost Leonore.

Copyright © 2012 S.L.Chast 

Revised and Submitted to Poets and writerss 9/27/2013