BELLE FEMME:
A Birthday Gift
by Geoffrey Jones
She doesn’t know I am watching
Her… I like it this way… She is
Without awareness… Or inhibition…
Or defense…
The sun vanishes somewhere
Beyond the horizon but
Leaves behind a fleeting trace
Of burgundy, peach, and gold…
In tribute, I think, to the
Journey from dawn to dusk…
Soon it will be dark as the
Warmth of the street lamps will
Be all that remains to light our
Way… Boulevard Bistro awaits
Us at eight o’clock sharp…
Glancing in the mirror she
Puts on her face while swaying
To the gentle rhythm of Latin jazz
That aimlessly wanders in from
The parlor…
Childish and sultry she
Addresses her reflection, and then
Surveys the surface of the vanity
On which perfumes and powders
Are casually arrayed…
Of course she needs none of
This… Yet she subtly adorns herself
With colors, and mists, and sprays…
All to great effect, but with very
Little effort… So beautiful is she
That less is more…
In rare moments of self-doubt
She regrets the lines and modest
Imperfections… But I’ll be damned
If I see them… It’s been fifty-three
Years since first we met… And to
These aging eyes nothing at all
Has changed…
A single strand of pearls… And a
Black cocktail dress… And that’s
All I ever need to know…
Many things in life are open
To debate, but it is a simple truth
That God was at the top of his
Game on the day she was brought
Into being…
I then smile a satisfied smile…
For I know at the top of the hour
I will be the privileged one to
Escort her on my arm to the
Bistro…
All elegance and grace… I
Will be the lucky one to dine
With her tonight by candlelight…
Just the two of us together…
All alone… In a very crowded
Room…
