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| 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 . . .
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| Versailles, France |
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