In the Armor Court

In the armor court of my youth, a knight my sizerode a bay in silver chains, and I looked up at her

every Saturday, my stockinged legs and saddleshoes splayed on the floor like wings.

In the faded scenes that hung from the walls,women's faces furrowed and frowned, stags

locked with twisted horns and, every now and then,a unicorn walked through a field of flowers.

Gorget, pallette, breastplate, jambeau. Now,out my window, the paint horse is pissing

with her tail held high, the way a lady flaresher pinkie drinking a dainty cup of tea.

Poleyn, skirt of tasses, solleret, cuisse.Between us, the hedgerow has put on her studded

pearls. There's one lone bulb in the barnand the sky's a museum. From my garden,

picking the turnips and the winter kale, I hearthe girls galloping. The ground sends the sound

before they flay the field. And suddenlyI'm swooning. My whole life I've wanted

to be that girl—plated, chained, impenetrable.To take the field first, to reveal myself later.