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by Theodora Goss

Lilies tangle in her hair: green stems

Like water-snakes.

2. A disembodied hand

   Floats on the surface. So much has been lost

   Already: toes, the lobe of her left ear.

   But this remains, a damp, immaculate

   Sign, like a message saved from the dark current.

3. She wandered through the courtyard in her tattered

   Dress distributing wild violets.

   She called us whores—your son ma’am, not your husband’s

   I think—and knaves—the taxes sir, your cellar

   Is stocked with sweet Moselle. We called this madness.

4. Indicia of her innocence: to be

   A maiden floating dead among the flowers.

5. She will become an elegant and mute

   Image: the sodden velvet coat, the sinking

   Coronet of poppies, virgin’s bower,

   And eglantine. The replicable girl.

   (A blob of Chinese white becomes a hand.

   The artist puts his brush in turpentine,

   The model pulls her stockings on.)

6. And yet,

   Surround by the water-lily stems,

   Her face appears an enigmatic mask:

   A drowned Medusa in her snaking hair.

   The lilies gape around her like pink mouths,

   Telling us nothing we can understand.

7. Her eyes stare upwards: dead and not quite dead.