She lies face up in a secret place—
untamed garden or tamed jungle,
no matter. She lies
with a Louis Vuitton bucket-bag,
its repeating monogram
like visa stamps to Xanadu. Gold
fringe spills from nowhere, striping
her pale thigh. A white dove, wings blurred,
balances on raised fingers;
two more nestle nearby
in the high dried grass. Why these birds,
this hint of headless
raccoon? Why this dress
of fuzzy green scraps
that could be plucked for a nest?
Her browless, half-closed eyes
are no window.
It’s her parted lips that see.
Maria Terrone is the author of three poetry collections, Eye to Eye, published by Bordighera Press in May 2014, A Secret Room in Fall and The Bodies We Were Loaned, as well as a chapbook, American Gothic, Take 2.