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Vera Kilgore Heilig: Her Poetry Lives (2017) H. Morris Williams, Marie Law Haire

To A Lady Caught Off Guard

Are you embarrassed that I find you thus arrayed

In woolly robe and slippers with your face unmade,
Your hair done up in curlers? Did you, Sweet, suppose
I loved you for your lipstick or your stylish clothes?

My love, I do not love you for your powder base,
But if it saves your modesty, go fix your face.
Put on your most chic dress, your high heeled shoes;

Brush out your curls, use every female ruse.

Be glamorous if you must, but now I know

Just how you look, and find you sweeter so.
My unmasked temptress, rest assured you’re far
More tempting this way than you think you are.

Divorce

I made a vow to cherish you
Till death should come between.

But this is death, this withering
Where hope sprang green.
The tombstones of my murdered dreams

Are evidence of death that is more real
Titan any actual death of bone and sinew.
Do you think I’d feel
Life’s blood drain out more surely

From a dagger in the heart
Titan from this death of faith
That does us part?

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