M A R I A  T E R R O N E

The Egyptian Queen Gives

Death the Slip

from A Secret Room in Fall

Found: two boxes of wigs in my tomb

and a stash of makeup; considering my rain-

soaked sail to the other side, you assume

a queen needs to freshen up.  But no, I changed

looks to slip by unknown in last century's hair style

and dated powder shades like bronze and clay.

You've seen my "death mask" in the museum's Nile

wing by an artist I hired myself.  Pray,

do I look dumb or weak?  When you stared

into my black-winged eyes, weren't you first to blink?

Taking flight is my talent.  Let Death play solitaire,

or else play with you his eternal, stinking

game of boredom.  That's not for me.  I'm everywhere

and nowhere, which is why you found my casket bare.

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