Ode to a Dressmaker’s Dummy

             O my coy darling, still

             You wear for me the scent

        Of those long afternoons we spent,

              The two of us together,

   Safe in the attic from the jealous eyes

                Of household spies

   And the remote buffooneries of the weather;

                        So high,

   Our sole remaining neighbor was the sky,

             Which, often enough, at dusk,

   Leaning its cloudy shoulders on the sill,

Used to regard us with a bored and cynical eye.

             How like the terrified,

             Shy figure of a bride

        You stood there then, without your clothes,

                 Drawn up into

        So classic and so strict a pose

     Almost, it seemed, our little attic grew

Dark with the first charmed night of the honeymoon.

        Or was it only some obscure

     Shape of my mother's youth I saw in you,

There where the rude shadows of the afternoon

        Crept up your ankles and you stood

        Hiding your sex as best you could?—

        Prim ghost the evening light shone through.