“If there is any kitchen in Parnassus, my Muse has surely
officiated there as a woman of all work, and an aproned waiter.”
— Lydia Huntley Sigourney, Letters of Life, 1866

How can you die in us? You are still love
who roots us and flowers.  Sweet singer, forgive
the hard, warning questions we’ve turned the wheel of.
How can you die in us? You are still love,
long-generous giver. You need us to live,
to bless, touch, believe in — know — what we’re made of.
How can you die in us? You are still love
who roots us, to flower.  Sweet singer, forgive.

First published in Lydia Sigourney: Critical Essays and Cultural Views, ed. Mary Louise Kete and Elizabeth Petrino