I don’t know why she’s in my arms now.
She’s just as rigid as she ever was.
Not even blood pools out her private body,
She thought she’d save it for her wedding day.
The rocking chair creaks like a mourning dove,
The mourning doves are gone.

I wanted to write you before she was gone,
But the shotgun smokes black, but I’ve done it now,
but I’ve done it raw. Above, a mourning dove
Groans like a dying girl on her wedding day.
The bullet hole is just as gaudy as it ever was.
The rocking chair thrusts in and out like a body.

Do we ever get the nerve to look at our own body?
If the mourning doves are gone,
Should we mourn for ourselves? Will our day
Of reckoning smoke black like a gun? Now,
she’s in the garden, just as soft as she ever was.
Now, the lillies are screaming like a mourning dove.

Will Jesus, Son of God, mourn us like a dove?
If a fallen angel comes, will they touch our dirty body?
Is it just as raw as it ever was?
The morning doves are gone,
I wonder where they’ll fly now;
There’ll be no blood for them, or a wedding day.

I never loved the girl that we buried. The black day
sinks into my lap like our gun. A mourning dove
Murmurs our name to Jesus. We’ve done it now,
Will we do it again? There’s no such thing as a private body
anymore. I rock in the rocking chair. I’ve gone
back and forth like I never was

Rigid. I’ve gone back and forth like I never was
Soft. When you read this, will you remember this day
Like a wound or a moan? Have you ever gone
Back to her body? Do you have the nerve to look at a dove?
Did the Lily’s in the garden grow from her body?
I hope you’re chuckling in the rocking chair now.

She’s just as rigid as she ever was.
The rocking chair creaks like a mourning dove

We could have bled on our wedding day,
But of what use is a private body?

The mourning doves are gone
My shotgun’s hot, I’ve done it now.