Poetry 365

(after Leon Stokesbury and Vermeer)
She reads the whole note once again.
We can tell it is winter from the ermine—
lined jacket she wears indoors.In the morning
when he left he left his scent inside the rain—
dampened air.She was a kind of woman
who could cling to, if she had wanted, greater things—
a reputation in the town for some good use, omen
prophesying beneficence that would come her way, a string
of pearls a painter had tried to give her strung onto yellow ribbon.
But his pale husk she has in her hands, now thin
and fair reminder of sacrament live flesh retains.
In this city by the sea one is encouraged to learn to read winds.
She puts the letter away, has a fleeting thought about wages of sin,
and then she reads the whole note once again.

October 25, 1999