Page 49 - vera-kilgore-heilig-her-poetry-lives-(2017)-h-morris-williams-and-marie-law-haire

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

Sepulcher

I idly picked at flakes of peeling paint

Upon my image of myself, a saint,
Curious at what beneath the surface lay,

Not thinking to uncover vile decay.
The base it stood on, which had seemed to me

An alabaster box, I found to be
A whited sepulcher. I had not known

There was corruption there. Not one dry bone

Had rattled warning to me as I stood
Convinced within myself that I was good,

And thanked God I was not as other men.
But now I stand aghast before the sin

My probing finger has exposed to view.

What must I do, O Lord, what must I do?

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