Columbella

November, the life once led

infecter slips away subdued. Bury

the ash in the Bronx (Ms. Mary

Mallon) so only memories may

remain whilst endured through

infamy. But if conditions were

simple as being the way we appear

we would not have known the name

of bearer and aid in the expanse

of fierce disease. Disharmony

'tween the way which she appeared

and the malaise she caused through

a cause. From the shorelines of

great rolling greens, from

pressured tumultuous life they

came 'cross waters chance that

they'd just be. So had she, had

Mary 14. Turning the century she

had found purpose in delivering

fouled sustenance house-cooking

but twenty-two infections brought

light to patterns, grounds for

isolation set, executed and

recalled should sickness never be

spread through such means again.

But passionate paths rarely

redirect thus quarantine would

remain life quarters until fading

days. No soul would have asked for

such despairing fate. We can't

deny, can't deny she'd be rueful.

No, it was a birth right she would

not outlive. As they said and they

said and they said she was death

she'd speak out but she would not

outlive. No matter how much she

wished she'd simply be this is how

she'd exist.