Countess of the Court

she doesn’t say much

doesn’t show much

in expression or appearance

she strides in a little after noon

from lunch or home

I don’t know

with a gallant stride

head high

eyes fierce

wearing suit pants that fit

just right

a blouse that fits

just right

and hair past her shoulder

curly and brown

in cadence with the wind

and the trees

and everything just in the world

I watch her

from the moment she ascends

the stairs

down the strip

and past my window

with childish awe

and feverish desire

and it’s as if

she’s not moving at all

the people around her

aren’t there

the people around me

aren’t there

it’s just me and her

me and her mystery

I step up to the window

for a closer glance

I can see the glimmer

in her eyes

the subtle birthmark

on her cheek

I can almost touch her

but I can’t

I pray she looks at me

notices me

obliges me

but she doesn’t

she’s in a world

entirely her own

then she

turns the corner

and is gone.

I ask about her

some say her name is Andrea

others say Ramona

the sheriff says she’s an intern

the guard says she’s an attorney

the janitor said she’s sweet

while a clerk said she’s crazy

but they don’t know for sure

no one knows

they know just as much as me

and so I look out my window

looking for her

waiting for her

to stride by again

and she does

not tomorrow or the next

but in a week

she ascends

she strides

everything just right

I see her, I smile

and think

she’s none of those things

and all of them, too

she’s my phantasm

my Medusa, my Durga

the Countess of the Court

my Lady Godiva

in all her naked glory

bareback on a white mare

with a sword in her hand

and flowers

in her hair.