By Megan Willome
Acquainted with Eline
after Robert Frost’s “Acquainted with the Night”
I was a woman. I am a martyr.
My shroud held tight inside her cross.
I did not come to Haugen to barter.
No saint: I am an albatross.
My splendid body, he used, no longer wants.
My death, not hers. My children, her loss.
On her wedding day I came to haunt.
Cast off the stones they laid me under.
I knew the signs: her pale face gaunt.
After that is it any wonder
my big, hard eyes grew only darker,
Fastened on her, pulled her under.
The way of a mistress is so much harder.
I was a woman. I am a martyr.
Project Redux 
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