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(Poem by Wendy Howe ) I sit parallel with myself as the mirror provides a woman elegantly shadowed on glass and inhaling the scent of white orchids. The classic pose is here, face resting on an arm that leans long and sleek into the silence as if it were a spoon crafted for a cool dessert. Before I married a rich man, my body could not relax with such grace. I worked as a model and struggled to look innocent or seductive. Back and bones ached from bonding with those beautiful moments of stillness. Heat glazed me in a kiln of stucco walls and I glistened -- an objet d'art the world would appreciate on glossy magazine covers; and the photographer, on large prints he kept for himself. Now, I glance sideways at a lady who is able to linger and lounge in morning's soft leisure. The air slightly chilled like parfait; and I wonder about this view as fate curves into hair rolled smoothly upward and shining in pale concert with the room's fanlight. The garden lies beyond; but what aim is spared flowering inside of her, of me, or this impeccable hour? shadow stretch To know more about Wendy Howe All Images & Poems (En) |
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