shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Anita Olivia Koester


Fleur-de-lys: A Sonnet

The emblem of the kings of France, symbol,
tamed iris or spear head. In New Orleans
we filled all the alleys with slurs and limbs,
you were a man of this continent, blood
of Indians and others, eyes like church
windows, but not the ones in Reims where I
went some years later, to heal, after you
gutted me through, tamed iris or spear-head...
The hills roll low, champagne uncorked, flowing,
the new sun hastens the harvest, I drink
to the Chagalls at the back of the great
cathedral in Reims, a sight you'll never
see, even if you still stood next to me,
self-crowned king of all that does not flower.