The morning comes
But dawns no more for you
Tamora Hutt …
Whose tears will rain on your unnurtured form
Frail as daylilies
I have no history just my art
And a photograph to guide my careful strokes –
Who is this with you princess, smiling then,
Where is he now?
Will he follow in train your final carriage ride,
Snow White that never was a fairytale bride?
The tracery of veins still blue, the skin …
No line or wrinkle, smooth as ice
Is cold – how old were you?
For whom do I apply my art?
The man in his designer suit who’ll pay the bill,
The woman with sculpted nails and face,
Who hurried on to some other place,
But dropped in the dress
So tissue fine and snowflake white
(Was it last night?) –
For you Tamora Hutt I hide the bruising, mend
The broken skin and blend
The colours of my palette to disguise
The horrors drowned within your eyes.
I am your bridesmaid, I’ll attend you well –
No tears now child, no tears, not ever again,
They shall not see the desolation of your final hours
I have repaired
You to your bridal bower –
Rest now …