I wondered why a girl could not wed three,
and laughed, and sealed the letter, and was good.
They called my laughing sweetness. Let it be
the only thing of me they understood.
Four men poured out their veins to keep me whole,
and each one whispered that it made me wed.
They charted every breath and missed the soul,
and kept a garlic vigil by my bed.
When I rose hungry, unashamed, awake,
they named the hunger evil, named it sin.
My love was handed mallet, prayer and stake,
and praised how steadily he drove it in.
They say my face grew sweet again. It had:
the dead can't want. That's all that made them glad.