Widows’ weeds is what we wearStiflingly hot in midday airHouses usurped by eldest sonsPost-husbands, post-menopause, weConvene daily, really to seeThat we still live, it’s hardly funBut beneath each blackened shellBright colours of our glory daysBelie this ghastly latter phaseWe dream of Heaven, live in HellGossip our only consolationThe fauve follies of the youngWho’s deserving, who … Continue reading Black Widows