Poetry

Sarcophagus of the Spouses, Etruscan, sixth-century BC

Perhaps it is the way their feet align,

his bare, hers clad

in slender pointed slippers

or how they half recline

on the bed, their grave.

It could be their smiles,

their shared gaze, his gentleness,

the way that he seems

captivated by her face.

Is it in their clothes,

the terracotta folds of fabric,

and her braids, falling in long coils,

or the eloquence

of her gesturing hands,

the way his arm rests lightly

on her shoulder indicating

something that will please her.

Perhaps it is the way you point

to fine wrought sieves in bronze,

images of hares and doves,

serving platters with painted fish -

your arm around me mirroring his.

Jenny Donnison

© 2014