Your appearance in the courtyard is a pale reflection of season's past
when you illuminated the morning glories
with your rapturous charm
and old men at the chess board
arose in chorus to praise
your brightly-colored ensembles.
Now, some hostile years have marched
over your allure,
scarring a landscape marked by
husband's infidelities,
an ectopic pregnancy,
Lyme disease,
a breast cancer scare.
The hand-woven sweater which seasons ago
adorned a vibrant figure
struggles to obscure a shy, defeated form.
Your daughters flutter beside you,
nimble as a fireflies.
The promise of the day is alight in their eyes.
You smile when their eyes meet yours,
but not often besides.
Your husband pulls the water hose
to his pickup truck,
eyeing the buxom neighbor across the way.
You were once a splendid bride,
full of laughter and unbounded esteem.
When we danced on your wedding day
you declared you never knew such euphoria.
"He's The One," you said,
and I spied in your lavender-painted eyes
the hypnotic state that bends lovers
toward forever promises.
I blessed you,
and I blessed your marriage,
because there is only
this
moment
before the curtain drops
and one is heard no more.
Your daughters wave hello,
exalted in their matching floral-print dress.
You conceal your fractured spirit from them,
yet, when they are old enough
for shopping malls,
push-up bras,
and boy's lusty stares──
when they learn of father's affairs──
will you commend them
to hold sacred their precious pearls,
to value what is divine in them
and what should never
be surrendered?
Or will they suffer the contamination
of mother's soured milk.
**First published in Suspended Magazine
