PORTRAIT OF A LADY

web | The Sun Is but a Morning Star

Your thighs are appletrees
whose blossoms touch the sky.
Which sky? The sky
where Watteau hung a lady's
slipper. Your knees
are a southern breeze or
a gust of snow. Agh! what
sort of man was Fragonard?
As if that answered
anything. Ah, yes. Below
the knees, since the tune
drops that way, it is
one of those white summer days,
the tall grass of your ankles
flickers upon the shore
Which shore?
the sand clings to my lips
Which shore?
Agh, petals maybe. How
should I know?
Which shore? Which shore?
the petals from some hidden
appletree Which shore?
I said petals from an appletree.

1920

© William Carlos Williams
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© E-publisher LiterNet, 17.09.2009
The Sun Is but a Morning Star. Anthology of American Literature. Edited by Albena Bakratcheva. Varna: LiterNet, 2008-2010