She dressed in a hurry 

or perhaps never wore a slip. The photo
the press loved: a girl in a skirt, distance

between her thighs backlit by the sun,
a circle of children in her care birthed

by other mothers. The obvious
didn’t escape him: she could bear heirs

and be advised on attire, as they headed for
the silks of coronation, the duress of his mistress,

the inevitable rain, the wet hull of a tunnel,
tracer arcs of the streetlamps of Paris…

To view photo poem montage, visit my channel. To read remainder of poem, visit Salome Magazine. Montage originally published at The Mom Egg. On piano, Stephen Pryputniewicz performing music of Scriabin.