by Elisabeth Murawski
He undresses me in pure daylight.
I am the daughter of Midas
returned from gold. The nocturne
I never learned to play
encores in my head. I ask
who clipped the lock of his hair
and was he dying then.
I kiss his hands, kneel
like the shepherds, hosannas
in their ears, arrived
before the star-struck kings.
Chopin approaches the Pleyel,
dreaming another prelude.
The earth slows to listen.
A stork nests on my roof,
harbinger of spring.
Elisabeth Murawski’s poems have appeared in American Poetry Review, The New Republic, Ploughshares, and elsewhere. She is the author of two poetry collections, including Zorba’s Daughter, which won the May Swenson Poetry Award. Her third collection, Heiress, was released in September 2018. A native of Chicago, she currently lives in Alexandria, VA.