ever taught in any institution
since the beginning of time.
She wears Renaissance Faire earrings
purple, thickly cabled sweaters
and holds her bun together with plastic clips.
The library in her bedroom is filled
with Tolstoy, Austin and Alcott
(though of course, Alcott was from years ago)
And literary witticism thrills her
more than skinny-dipping ever could.
She dreams emphatically of romance
and despite infinite eloquent aspirations
her head turns with lines from cheap novels
whispered at midnight into the smooth curve of her neck.
She has an answer to every question,
a remark regarding each imaginable analysis.
Her scorn, once earned, is not easily lost -
and beneath all of this lies the shifting sense of self
that comes from yearning to be Elizabeth or Catherine,
but finding herself inescapably tied to the present.
You can read the poetry in the library.
ReplyDeleteI will read yours.
Tante