
The other females wear fascinators,
their hats tentacled with wire
and gauze. Some piled high
with cabbage leaves of fabric.
She enters the garden
with aquatic poise, wide-brimmed
and floral scarf rippling in the heat
like an underwater strand of coral.
Her hair is short, moussed back
under black straw. Most of it
she cut while visiting a temple
in Mumbai. Her yardage of brunette silk
spilled into a basket on the steps.
Some wind rose off the river
blending in a cool psalm of bells,
a bronzed blessing near twilight.
Around her now, rich women chime-in
about Monaco, the runaway bride
who went off to Paris for shoes,
whose delicate hands
may have laced and unlaced,
strapped and unstrapped
a hundred pairs before sighting
the flawless couple.
Yet, Solange thinks of the girl
with brittle nails but tender fingertips
who twists and untwists
those donated strands, a dose
of similar color, feminine splendor.
Nothing synthetic
like the drug that causes
her scalp to shed, its drip
of rain killing dark blossoms
her body cannot abide.
_______________________________________
Note -- The lovely art deco painting by French artist, Marie-France Riviere, is entitled, "Femme-Fleur". More of her evocative work can be seen at her on-line gallery --- www.griviere.com/expo2000.
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