Statue

The Box lay open

Handsome, well carved

Oak with brass handles

Silk silver lining, softer than sin

Comfortable, beautiful,

worthless, wasteful

Stone statues, stiff, immobile

do not need a silken pillow

Glued-shut eyelids cannot see

The sunset flowers or the golden blessing

Or the fine, caramel-stained box.

Wax figures do not care, feel, or want

These comforts of the life they have lost

The box is for us, the flowers for us,

The cross, the silk, the suit, the blush

The kneelers, the crying, the regrets, the respects

It is all for us, we visitors of Madame Tussauds.

The body is cold, dead, dirt, nothing.

The coffin is for us