Rehearsal for the abbey

A journey so soon after arriving - I implored the help of my guide, on learning of my performance she returned with this Gold Raven Mask and robes of black. I have borrowed a poem of Ted Hughes that I have loved since reading it in high school, that over the years has come to mean more to me. Examination at the Womb-Door - Ted Hughes Who owns those scrawny little feet? Death. Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face? Death. Who owns these still-working lungs? Death. Who owns this utility coat of muscles? Death. Who owns these unspeakable guts? Death. Who owns these questionable brains? Death. All this messy blood? Death. These minimum-efficiency eyes? Death. This wicked little tongue? Death. This occasional wakefulness? Death. Given, stolen, or held pending trial? Held. Who owns the whole rainy, stony earth? Death. Who owns all of space? Death. Who is stronger than hope? Death. Who is stronger than the will? Death. Stronger than love? Death. Stronger than life? Death. But who is stronger than Death? Me, evidently. Pass, Crow. posted by Megan Warren