Only the Good

On the bright side,
My family must surely have been wealthy
To keep me young forever
Here in ancient technicolor.

Painterly, I wear only one lock,
One strand of golden blackness
With which to regard my cold forever
Tethered to the brown ligature

Of the frame. I live
In the stillness of fame,
Of Egypt, Rome or whatever grand city,
Of a life shortly stricken
From the record of Thoth
By a quick cough.

Queen Isis, how could you? I thought
You were meant to protect me.
The amulet I wore
Was an assurance that you wouldn’t forget me
That you wouldn’t let me die
The way Horus did. Yes

Horus comes back in the end,
And in a way I’m back after all,
But back in the way of never having lived
Much at all. Before I am made

Only the Good

Mummy by the corrupt priests,
Before my body is ransacked by British industrialists,
Before I am excavated and made priceless
By a history of feeble mouths,
At least I am here in this

Pretty frame, sad and still,
Looking, looking right at you
And daring you to stay
As still as I
And let another child die.