Elizabeth Siddal
not
just
object
she burned wife
stood artist herself
his ego averred her vision
murmured medieval moments more intense than his own
she piqued painters beyond rossetti—supine in cold water weird wedding dress adorned
bringing ophelia's sketchy last swim to life as only a nineteen year old can
poppies at hand—only woman to show her own art
laudanum shrouded their dead child
dante placed his love
poems for
liz in
her
pall
