Marthe Mary
My parlor here in Aachen fronts on Heilplatz.
Here, from behind a drape, I gaze unseen
On passersby, and dream of Petersburg,
And wit, and art, and thoughtful, gentle men
And bright-lit ballrooms where what passed for love
Progressed apace as steps will, in a dance.
In Aachen, rags of newsprint whip and dance
Upon the grey, round cobblestones on Heilplatz.
In Aachen, business takes the place of love.
Soft colors -- complex thoughts -- cannot be seen;
The heavy footfalls of fat, dough-faced men
Drown out the blithe mazurkas of Petersburg.
Coachmen, on gilt gigs in Petersburg,
Could make the fine-boned bayards strut and dance.
In Aachen, nags lashed by ham-handed men
Haul the hacks that grumble along Heilplatz.
I dream, as I look upon the leaden scene
Of the warmth and color that I learned to love.
I recall the fires of passion: and though it was not love,
It was the latest fashion found in Petersburg.
In anterooms where we could not be seen,
We'd kiss, we'd sigh . . . continue with the dance.
And, yes, I know, as I know the stones of Heilplatz,
That I must wed an honest, round-eyed man.
My father Hans, a bland and busy man,
As prideful gesture of his filial love
Sent me from the shrouded glooms of Heilplatz
To flower, in my 16th Spring, in Petersburg --
Where all my senses burst, and where I learned to dance.
In Aachen, now, those memories fade unseen.
I will marry any Burgher, sight unseen;
I will stand by the finest of Good Men.
If only I had never learned the dance
Or relished all the hues and tones of love
Delectable and fickle, that thrive in Petersburg --
That cannot live in Aachen on Heilplatz.
My stout antecedents never knew the love,
Of elegant sleek men who waltzed in Petersburg
A chilly scene imprisons us on Heilplatz.
© Maggie Morley, 1996
Poems by Maggie Morley
The Albany Poetry Workshop