Monday, September 12, 2011

La Bella Principessa

La Bella Principessa


Solemnly you sit
in the golden glow of sunlight reflecting on a yellow wall,
your demeanor calm . ..
yet your turmoil within
is like the battle of dragons,
black smoke of their breath rising up behind your eyes;
your day is caught up in memories
of yesterday's youth . .  
a dream you had of being a girl . .. 
before your marriage,
which, so quickly ripped your carefree days 
into shreds . . . while you were reborn
as a matron . . . though your face,
still smooth as a baby, 
is painted to cover the shadows and the pallor 
of your restlessness and ennui . . 
and your eyes as clear 
as the biggest star on a moonless night . . .
reflect nothing . . .
your tender lips have no longer the strength to lift
into a curve of delight . . . and those peals of laughter,
that once resounded in the valleys of the girls . . .
do not echo on the stone walls of the matrimonial domicile . .
is there a hint of a tear in those golden eyes?
yet you look as if you were about to call your kitten to you . . 
to run and play. . .
and sing with your friends in the garden . . .
trailing your fingers lazily in that fountain, there,
with the moss spotted faun cavorting in the water,
you have always wondered what doorway you could open
to find that world of fauns, and fairies, unicorns and roses . . .
flowers you can find in your own gardens,
but not the kind that never wilt . . . nor droop and drop their petals . .. 
that wither away
into scarlet crusts of blood . . .
spent in their dying moments . . .
your clear eyes glance like water 
on the hot face of the painter . . . 
as he patiently rubs a wayward stroke of his pencil . .. 
he looks into your soul . . . an open door . .. 
a draft blows through with  a vengeance . .
and for a moment you shudder as if a thing with scales
and claws is walking on your skin . ..
leaving tattoos, like drops of blood,
and you sigh. . .
just slightly,
a mere ripple in the oceans of a larger day . . .
and here, the painter says he has enough . . .
so you quickly slip away through a darkened doorway . . .
never looking at the drawing of you . . .
Versailles, France


3 comments:

CŒDES Pierre-Marie said...

very surrealistic vision of inner thoughts, very cruel and desperate, regarding the condition, or fate of women of the past.
Just a painting, and the eyes and sensitivity of a poet sees it all, as beautiful the painting may be.
This astounds me.
Thank you for sharing this Barb.
PM

Wolfsong said...

Thank you, PM for your comment. True, I thought of the little bit of history of this girl that is known. She died very young. . . her story just seemed sad and I wondered how she felt . . . or perhaps these girls just accepted their fate . . at being married so young.

CŒDES Pierre-Marie said...

" at being married so young. ". . . very often to men who were far older than their newly wed . . . and without love . . . can you imagine ?