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(Poem by Wendy Howe ) The east wind curtsies with a nervous chill and the river swallows a lump of ice -- the pale empress has sailed in, swirling around Île-de-France in her sabled cloak and gown. Streets become a garland of car lights twisting through Paris with agitated sparkle. And from my window, I smile. Napoleon tried to invade Russia with his grand army but failed -- and now her ghost arrives with a cold coup d'état. All avenues are blocked and we blend into this waiting, the skyline an endless sentence of fog. Tomorrow it will be clearer, punctuated with a scant circling of birds. To know more about this poem, about Wendy Howe All Images & Poems (En) |
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