- Vol. 02
- Chapter 01
From Polonius In His Dark Heaven To Ophelia, Pulled From The River
Why did you do it, Ophelia?
Was it really because of me?
Was I so poor a father?
Sixty summers before I held you in my arms,
and then I had to be father and mother to you.
I never knew the levity of youth -
it was buried with a like intensity
in your mother’s grave, and I
just a dried up husk left behind.
I must have always been old to you.
Afraid, I gave you words in place
of a mother’s comforting embrace -
empty words to deal with the likes of Hamlet ...
It is too late to speak of Hamlet:
it has always been too late.
My life surrounded by men,
my thoughts shaped for them.
Perhaps, if I had known my mother ...