19. Artiste - New Orleans Woman

by cynthmala

cashmere swirls over worn faille
and madras and taffeta float
chests spill over with second-hand satin
and hats top the bedposts
all this - her raiment for a life
she isn't living - finery
for places she doesn't visit
all of it - draping a room
she didn't plan to inhabit

saturdays, near sundown
the Quarter ignites, and the bars
smoulder on Bourbon...
Artiste works in what she sleeps -
a sheet, with a bit more
to make it seem less -
but on early Sunday morning
on spring and sunny mornings
she wears a heavy green robe
and pulls the sash tightly
- a massive knot on this day of rest

hostage of habit
she wears it all day
sips cafe au lait
until her tongue is chicory dark
and can't taste anymore
she leans on the broad frame
of a hole - two centuries now a window -
she rests, folds arms...
lazy ears receive
the prayers and murmurs of Mammas
wafting in with the heat

racoon-eyed
she sees her Drunk
walking up-street against the masses
whom she throws a daily five to
then, she draws back elbows and eyes
Artiste covers closely
her full breast with green
and under the white-hot sky
in a pillow of humid curls
she dozes
in a future that's easy

(hope the hole - two centuries now a window - is still there)


hellicane category: local color