Lament of Hades Mary Ann Honaker Mary Ann Honaker   How I ache to see her in the blossom-dappled fields, her long locks windswept and tangled, soft grasses caressing her calves and ankles. Her body smells of earth, pine, sweet saps of tree and shrub, young tender stalks. This my love, my lady of the mountaintops. When she speaks, sometimes it is the giggle of birds, the babble of streams, meaning nothing, but joy-inducing. Sometimes it is the echoes of deep seas, the earth's belly humming, the mysterious drumming of blood in the ears. Every word is that near. This is my love, my lady of the mountaintops. Yet when I speak, our words clang together as sword upon sword. There's no hope of understanding, nor of being understood. She stays hidden in the morning mists. This is my love, my lady of the mountaintops. Mary Ann Honaker holds a B.A. in philosophy from West Virginia University and a Masters of Theological Studies from Harvard Divinity School. She has previously published poetry in Harvard's The Dudley Review and Crawlspace of Cambridge, Massachusetts.