PARIS AT NIGHT.A Poem by Terry CollettA WOMAN AND HER MAID IN PARIS IN THE 1920SHazel lies down upon the pillow and Listens to the sounds of Paris outside. A thin slither of light pushes its way Through a crack in the shutters. It has been A wonderful day, she muses, turning Her head to where her maid Dunne lies sleeping In the other bed. She watches the rise And fall of Dunne’s form beneath the covers. The Louvre had been a good idea. The art Had thrilled her. She thought Dunne would grow bored and Wander around like a child without play, But she had been equally as thrilled and Studied each painting with a scholar eye. She had been tempted at times unthinkingly To take Dunne’s hand in hers. She had when she Came last time with her friend Margaret, but That was then and Margaret had been her Lover too. Hazel sighs. She looks away At the slither of light. Back then she and Margaret had made love in Paris with Neither care nor concern. This time she had Reclined. Some other new lover Hazel Assumes, looking once more where Dunne sleeps, her Breathing soft, yet regular as seasons Come. She watches the outlines where the light Touches: the features of face, the fine hair, The rising and falling of the firm breast, The young body at rest. She has been most Attentive, Hazel muses in the dark. Maids are I suppose. Yet there seems more there Than duty and a maid’s sense of care. She’s glad she brought her along now, glad she‘s there. Paris lives on outside the closed windows, The light flickers through the shutter’s crack and Dances upon the place where Dunne lies in Bed, touches the pillow that holds her head. © 2011 Terry Collett |
StatsAuthorTerry CollettUnited KingdomAboutTerry Collett has been writing since 1971 and published on and off since 1972. He has written poems, plays, and short stories. He is married with eight children and eight grandchildren. on January 27t.. more..Writing
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