The Visitor

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John Lavery (1886)

 

She might have been coming from a funeral

Black becomes her, staring into the middle distance of the fire

The tea cup held lightly in her soft leather still-gloved hands

But there is something else going on

A life drama 

The secret silver bracelet

And under the collar a hint of red

And on her head a combed dark red plumage of sorts

Supports a fine net which does not conceal

It reveals

A woman as fine as the exotic embroidered life on the oriental screen

Sat quietly in the shallows of a winter moment

Nursing a heartfelt loss