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LAce Posted Monday, September 28th, 2009
She dressed in a hurry (Lady Di)
Tania Pryputniewicz

She dressed in a hurry

or perhaps never wore a slip. The photo
the press loved: a girl in a skirt, distance

between her thighs backlit by the sun,
a circle of children in her care birthed

by other mothers. The obvious
didn’t escape him: she could bear heirs

and be advised on attire, as they headed for
silks of coronation, the duress of his mistress,

the inevitable rain, the wet hull of a tunnel,
tracer arcs of the streetlamps of Paris,

the velvet interior of a limousine, rivulets
of silver traversing her window, silver

crisp inch of air she let in, lifting the bangs
off her forehead, cooling her throat,

hot lemon crepes doled into the hands
of lovers on side-streets at the moment

of impact. There should’ve been days
of bare feet on private lawns, time

to see her sons marry, their world no less sure
or less fraught with danger, the medics

of France advancing as she followed
a firefly into the thinning mist,

above the antiseptic green of the Eiffel grid
and over the Seine, past the boys in tights

dressed as plums, the fence of floodlights,
the grey backs of fallow deer sidling

through the royal forests, slight as moths
and the slowly descending sheath

of cotton draping her knees, morning bath’s
water still beading her shins.

Comments [post a comment]

Posted by Stephanie D on Wednesday, September 30th, 2009 at 11:43 PM
I like the imagery and how the end wraps to the beginning.

Posted by SALOME DAMON on Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009 at 3:03 AM
There seems an urgency in the poem as a tale that hurries to the end that we know so well now.



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