I knew the light needed a focus,
and that focus is a stolen treasure.
I wet my lips and look over my shoulder
with a come hither glance. I must
be covert. Treat this art as if we were
spies. Thieves. Reluctant traitors.

I don’t wish to be his nymph
or an icon hung on his wall.
But in order to bind color and life,
I need to wear the illicit hint
of vanity on my ear. This little pearl
I must bear, stolen from his wife.

She cannot know about this art
or that my hair flows like Jezebel’s.
But he and I, bound by dishonor
know that we will never part
from this secret. I am now the girl
with the stolen pearl earring. Forever.

02/13/2003

Author's Note: In response to the Vermeer painting and Chevalier novel of the same name.

Posted on 07/04/2007
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