The Lady In Yellow Chiffon

by Marina J. Neary

She floats into the music room —
A girl of thirty-seven
With round ember eyes,
A chest too narrow and flat
To contain earthly passions.

She teaches golden boys all morning,
Makes love to Schubert all evening,
Then dines by herself on the balcony,
Throwing morsels to the cat at her feet.
The world ends behind the curtain.

Anthonine, it was the blood of Polish dukes
That made you deaf to the sound of an infant’s whimpering
And silverware clanging. Only Strauss and Liszt
Pass through your cloud of yellow chiffon.

Now I can boast to my playmates
That my mother is a fairy,
That gusts of Wagner at midnight are sweeter
Than crumb cake, that one passing glance
From the Lady in Yellow Chiffon
Dims the love of all mortal mothers.