J. W. Booth

We remember your name, but only one role
of the fire-eyed actor on this world’s stage,
only one facet of your fractured soul.

Even now, in this long-distanced age
the tales multiply, and we want a view inside
of the fire-eyed actor on this world’s stage—

gypsy-fortune, host of omens denied
your unlucky star, your hand full of sorrow—
the tales multiply, and we want a view inside.

Today, deep conviction; murder tomorrow,
a hundred-plus years of men cursing your name,
your unlucky star, your hand full of sorrow.

Trapped and useless, finale of shame:
outrage at the crime (for the victim, weeping),
a hundred-plus years of men cursing your name.

We show a good face, in our history-keeping:
outrage at the crime (for the victim, weeping).
We remember your name, but only one role,
only one facet of your fractured soul.

A hack terzanelle for NaPoWriMo’s Day 16 prompt. I’ve enjoyed following this week’s NPR stories about the 150th anniversary of President Lincoln’s assassination, and got to thinking…