The Smiling Lady

by Irena Pasvinter

She’s known for her smile —
that’s her essence, her burden,
her everlasting enigma. Only the Cheshire Cat
can compete with her in the smiles department.

She’s been gone for half a millennium, almost,
but her smile lives on, fueling the hunt for her bones.
Numerous skeletons had been dug up and discarded
in the Convent of Saint Ursula in Florence,
and whenever a skull had been found,
it grinned at the diggers
its irresistible smile
of death.

Nobody knows that at night
at the Louvre she loosens her smile and laughs
till gleeful tears start rolling down her painted cheeks.

Then she promptly dries out the lachrymal moisture.
In no time she returns to beguile
with her immortal
smile.