The Crane, The Swan and The Ingénue
Waterbirds gather to gorge
on waste rice, every grain
guarded lest any fragment founder.
A hooded crane sits upon a nest
of yellowed moss and wilted peony,
a Chinese rose in sunken bog.
Spinning wheel sits idle; still,
Elle sait filer un fil
from clawfoot chair;
she claws at her latest bête noir.
Her confidante croons with
headdress as a black swan
taking flight from swirling waters;
ribbon tied beneath her throat
does not still the flutter
of her orange-red lips.
The parlour is a foraging patch
plush with myth--
Le drame bourgeois:
posturing, judgments weighty
and thick as Empire table.
The redhead’s curls are twisted up:
she is reserved, the scene stealer,
the one to remember leaning like
Empress Josephine veiled
in Directoire gown, or
Venus of woven wind’s breath.
She clutches shawl of spun
alexandrite against her
divine chest, unlike the old crane
with withered breasts down to
barren womb, who thinks herself
Privileged. Noble. Worthy of title.
The laurel swag makes a poor crown
as she preens the
cowardice from her perch.
Rebecca Weigold’s poetry has appeared in Tipton Poetry Journal, The Tishman Review, BlazeVox, Winamop!, The Skinny Poetry Journal, The Ekphrastic Review, and other publications. She lives in Kentucky. We are grateful for Rebecca at The Ekphrastic Review because she generously donates her time to take care of growing our Twitter presence online.
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