Diane Martini Richard
Dark dead partridges lie draped
across a wooden table
near the entrance
of gallery 309.
On the far wall, Dutch fleets
call victory on rough seas;
and St. Anthony is still
fighting winged devils
in a cave.
But in the corner, you carry the room
golden Baroque boy, smirking
in a pink silk frock, a yellow
bullfinch high in one hand
impervious
to the black cloud
behind you.
It’s clear
your parents enjoy you
to excess.
Sometimes, at home,
I iron white pillowcases
in the dimly lit basement
or remove debris
from the rafters
where mice are nesting.
But here, I might fashion wings
such as the tiger moth’s
prone to damage
yet flexible enough for flight.
***
Diane Martini Richard’s poems have recently appeared in 45th Parallel, Four Chambers Press, Poetry City USA, The Scene & Heard Journal, Spillway, Dying Dahlia, and Main Street Rag. In addition to poetry, she is also working on a memoir based on letters from WWII, and various essays on beauty and nostalgia.