The Woman in the Portrait

A woman hangs on my parlor wall Perched Precariously in her picture frame, A garish feather placed upon the hat upon her head Her dress, a ruby red, ruby red. Cobwebs kiss her ivory face- Spiderweb cracks trace her glass eyes and porcelain nose. A mouse or a moth chewed a hole in her side Anachronistic blue tape hides the embarrassing blemish with a worse one. The children who scamper through the halls of the old house like painting eating mice- Make up ghost stories about her. “She was murdered by her husband” “She was poisoned by her maid” “They say she walks these very halls…” “Waiting..” “No..” “Hunting.” I watch the painting day and night Perched in the same chair, Nothing to wait for Nothing to want. I Whisper in the children’s ears as they pass me by- Although they never hear She is here, she is here.