The Art of the Stoic Face
Wearing a hat to match her dress,
Queen Elizabeth waved a gloved hand
from balcony, carriage, and cathedral
for four long Jubilee days.
like dentures hiding
the absence of teeth,
over pouring rain
and the health of her husband,
hospitalized before the celebration.
and a lifetime in front of cameras,
she is the stooped master of the stoic face.
I wonder if she uses needles, injecting
something akin to Novocain or Botox,
to paralyze thoughts that wrinkle.
And if, when the cameras quit clicking,
she is left, like I am,
with phantom swelling in her cheeks
and two dry sockets,
no longer capable of tears.
The White Flags of Spring
They have sprouted
on bare branches
like fluffy white popcorn
scarves and hats
have been tossed in the closet
to hibernate for the summer.
And now, clutching each other
in a brisk wind,
frail petals cling courageously,
stems joined in solidarity
after yet another season
of plunging Dow, pink slips,
and Congressional gridlock.
My steps quicken
running towards them
as if they were white flags
on Red Cross trucks
bringing bandages and bottled water
and I was an embattled child
with a dirt-streaked face.
Author of the poetry chapbooks, Field Trip to the Museum, published by Finishing Line Press and Stronger Than Cleopatra, published by ELJ Publications. Online at www.jacquelinejules.com.