Mona Lisa
Karen Maceira
A
lute is plucked and strummed
to soothe her at these sittings.
He has
taught her how to place
her empty hands, to fix
her gaze on a point in the
room-
the gold rosette holding back
deep folds of damask
at the window.
He has told her to imagine
the rosette grew, opened, spilled
its seeds and
filled
the window sill with a hundred tiny rosettes.
Grieving for her dead
child,
she sees beyond the garden
out to the rocky landscape,
the
narrow path winding
to the lake.
He follows her gaze,
remembering
the kitchen girl
he met on that path last week.
Coming from the village
beyond
the lake, she carried a lamb
like a baby.
At the sight of
Leonardo
she stopped.
Under a clump of dark cedar
heavy with blue
berries,
it turned its head toward him.
The lamb wore the smile.
Karen Maceira has published her poems in New Orleans Review, Negative Capability, The Christian Science Monitor, and the Beloit Poetry Journal. Born and raised in New Orleans, she currently teaches English at Pearl River High School in Pearl River, LA.