The Madwoman sits in silence 
Her clothes are clean, shapeless.
Her hair is newly washed, but disarrayed.
She stares. What she sees is unimportant;
her children have left her.
Her family is dead. 
Her husband found shelter
In the softness of treasure that was not
hers to give.
Room of silence.
She is silent herself.
They wander by.
Staring at the clothes. The hair,
The hands lying like stones in her lap.
They see a chair. Occupied.
The madwoman sits in silence.
She is no one.
She gave herself away;
Gave until no one any longer 
Required her gifts.
The madwoman sits in silence.
A clean-washed glass,
Waiting to slip from the shelf - 

Blood is the stuff of life.
Corpus Christi

Thank God for trash cans.
-- Wendy Lobb 1995

               Sorrow -- Van Gogh

lift the lid...