Victorian Spirit*

Victorian Spirit

In the rest of the house
The children bobbed their ballet
(Step two three, plop)
Or roundly wrought out Ravel
on Ivory better left to elephants.

The cook stirred the pot
while the Mrs. held court
over silver tea cups-immune to the bedlam
that caused the neighbor women
to spill their tea.

All was action with the dog and cat-
when father, puffing on a panatela
stormed through the door
complaining of the gathering gray.

"a storm before the night is out
and a cold one, too,
so my bones are telling me."
Shouted in his best pirate gravel throated dialect,
warning his mates to prepare for the worst.
"Oh, sorry Bess, didn't know you had company."
Then on to the kitchen for three fingers
to ward off impending colds.

But up in the turret room, guarded against the gloom
by an impenetrable exterior
eighty year Aunt Penelope
Paints colors on canvas
with her eyes.
Bursts of red air passion flames,
Blue black squares of aching loneliness
Green interlacing all,
collecting it
giving it shape

A trace or two of yellow sun
A loaf of french bread, some wine and cheese,
all dressed in wicker.

She is tired now,
the brushes wiped clean with knobby fingers
the painting complete
self portrait
from memory.