What a find,
the ladies exclaim,
when I recite the Iliad, the Odyssey, the Catechism
and long, dull foreign operas
words that make no sense
and long, boring sermons
in Latin
and silly plays
that make everyone giggle
behind the shields
of their open silk fans
Ha, ha, a genius, isn’t it entertaining
ay, how precious
what a find
The ghostly ladies masked and hidden
inside their casings of eggshell-and-rice powder
so no one can tell
if they are dark too
I watch
as they arch their eyebrows
and flutter their open silk fans
each fan the graceful shape
of a single wing
Even a free bird is helpless
with just one wing