The Queen of Second Street...
I see her walk proudly down the street, her hips swaying to a long forgotten tune. She has no concern for the evening traffic as it parts for her like the Red Sea. Her cart is filled with obscure shapes in dingy wrappings, and if you look closely, you'll see a cherished doll wrapped tightly in a dirty blanket. She smiles as she walks, as though chatting with unseen people, and after listening, she raises her hand in a queenly salute. She walks on then, nodding left and right, smiling her regal smile. I can see in my mind how this tattered dowager in torn tennis shoes would look wearing a velvet cape, priceless pearls around her neck, head erect to bear the weight of her heavy crown. She lives in a wonderful place, much different than the world she left years ago, and when she sleeps, it's not in a nest of boxes in the Art Center doorway, but in a canopy bed with tapestry hangings, and a tassel to summon her "ladys in Waiting" I see her look at me and smile, and I wonder who she sees- I know it isn't me. -- copyright October 1997 Judith Anne Labriola (This poem was published in 95 Windows, an unofficial Poetry Collection from the Microsoft Network available at all Barnes and Noble Bookstores.)
|
|
|