Villain-elle: Death

The Seventh Seal (film, 1957)

by Golda Grais

Their dance is a dangling rope

as it crests the mountain of Sunday.

Still, I cannot deny the hope

as I arrive silently, robed in a long cloak

which casts a longer shadow. It threatens to fray

their dance, a dangling rope

which holds the woman as they stoke

a pyre for her witch-accused bones to take.

Still, I cannot deny the hope

in the soldier’s quietly offered oath

of gentle poison as those fires blaze,

their dance a dangling rope.

Perhaps the two surviving jesters will elope

while their fat baby toddles onward, giggling away.

Still, I cannot deny the hope

in life’s small treasures used to cope.

The fresh strawberries and cream await.

Their dance is a dangling rope

and still, I cannot deny the hope.

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About the Author:

Golda Grais is a writer and artist from Chicago. Her works of prose and poetry have been previously published in Harrow House Journal, The Mourning Paper, B O D Y, Up The Staircase Quarterly, and the New York Times, among others. https://goldagrais.wixsite.com/golda-grais-portfoli