SONIA NICHOLSON

Pierre and Marthe

bury me (enterre-moi)
run fingers down lids to 
shutter my eyes
for the last time
	windows of the country house

pick up the roman 
dropped mid-read from 
my hand, place it 
on the nightstand 
	next to glasses ignored 

climb into bed 
beside me, painter and muse 
wrapped in sheets 
silent and cold 
	with sketches of ghosts
	
put on your suit 
and take up your brush:
dab blossoms onto 
the almond tree finally flowering,
	the one you thought had died

jump after me
into the Seine, where Monet 
rowed ashore with 
pheasant and Bordeaux
	our single nakedness 

enterre-moi, bury me
at Le Cannet. white-washed
walls and yellow light
so that, mon amour, i
	never live a day without you