‘Ru’ya’ - Poem by Roger White

Not I shall sing your praise, Ru’ya,

but someone braver;

one steeled to tell the tale from

your young heart’s chamber out to

the cord’s abrasive kiss

on your slender throat.

Your mystery won’t admit me.

I circumambulate your virgin faith

lusting to know if when you put away

your dolls you foresaw that Death

would attend your debut,

foresaw yourself the orphaned maid

made matron by torture.

Child, child, what had your mother

dreamed for you? Do fathers dower heroines?

Not I shall sing your praise, Ru’ya.

Though umbilical metaphors suggest themselves

I have no breath for them

but leave your song to others,

for now you tie yourself to all of us.

One will unknot his throat

to speak of your lonely dance,

debutante of other dominions,

your face flushed with love

of Vision Whose name you bore.

The above poem by poet Roger White was provided to family members.