The Charnel House of the PlagueA Poem by David Lewis PagetI
sat all night in the charnel house With
a rag held over my face, The
smell down there was infernal But
I was guarding my wife’s remains, They’d
picked her up in a wooden cart When
they’d cried, ‘Bring out your dead,’ Thrown
her on top of the corpses there With
the plague marks on her head. I
followed the cart to Winson Green Where
they tipped their load in the dark, Down
in a noisome cellar, then They
would take them out to the park, The
churchyards all were full, they said, They’d
have to dig a pit, And
bury a hundred bodies there There
was no avoiding it. I
made my way to the cellar and sat, Holding
Elizabeth’s hand, Just
as she’d held my hand in life ‘Til
the plague swept over the land, We’d
wept together when she had felt The
swelling under her arms, I’d
vowed that I would take care of her When
freed from this life’s alarms. ‘You
won’t go into a communal pit, I’ll
see that they treat you fair,’ She
smiled at me on her deathbed, then I
ran my hand through her hair, I
called my brother to make the trip To
the coffinmaker he knew, And
bid him, ‘Carry the casket back Before
the fever gets you!’ He
came at dawn in a sorry state, The
fever was on his brow, ‘The
casket’s out in the street,’ he said, ‘The
coffinmaker is down. His
wife and children are dead in there, I
grabbed the one that was free, But
once you’ve settled Elizabeth, You’d
better get one for me.’ We
dragged Elizabeth up through the grate And
rolled her into the street, Placed
her into the coffin there Tucked
in her beautiful feet, The
lid went down, such a final sound When
she finally left my life, As
we loaded her onto a horse and dray I
cried for my poor, dead wife. They
turned us away at the cemetery, They
turned us away at the church, They
wouldn’t advise us where to go, ‘You’ll
have to go off, and search.’ We
came upon an abandoned house And
put her up in the eaves, ‘They’ll
never find her,’ my brother groaned In
the throes of the dread disease. My
brother died on the following day, I
left him beside the kerb, Next
to my mother and cousin Joan They’d
treated themselves with herbs, But
nothing stemmed the march of the plague My
family all but gone, While
I was immune from its deadly rays Just
me, and my father, Ron. We
walked and walked from the city square, And
sought out a country town, We
ate fresh food from the countryside And
waited the plague to go down, I
went to recover Elizabeth then, Went
back in search of my spouse, But
wandered forever the empty streets, I
couldn’t remember the house! David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
700 Views
11 Reviews Added on December 31, 2012 Last Updated on December 31, 2012 Tags: cart, churchyard, pit, fever Author
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|