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 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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December 2024
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