
Albert Bartolomé, "The Artist’s Wife Reading," 1883
Represent your elegant, dying wife
Leaving her traitorous body behind
Temporarily, for another life
Thanks to a novel, legible but blind

How did you feel, watching her read and die?
Is that what is really depicted here?
Were brush and pigment your means to defy
Disease, disintegration, loss and fear?

How casually we talk about love
Could it be the will to embarrass death?
Perhaps the novel, the power thereof
Is the key, for she breathed her final breath

Long ago, but like the protagonist
Of the tale, she continues to exist
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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