MISS ENA WERTHEIMER'S FAN

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  • Ena's burgundy velvet, her sister's white satin
  • welcome the touch. You can see the pulse in
  • their young round arms, shoulders, necks,
  • feel the press of Betty’s wrist at Ena’s waist.
  • One, two, twenty certain strokes and the fan
  • is in Ena’s hand, ready to conceal a foolish whisper.
  • “Mr. Sargent is so handsome.
  • Do you think he’ll stay for dinner?”
  • .
  • The speed in those strokes,
  • the rush to leave, to get on with real work.
  • “Things that matter await my hand—
  • soldiers, Bedouins,
  • brooks, hillsides in Spain,
  • authors, Presidents, Christs...
  • gourds.
  • .
  • Here are your daughters, Asher,
  • where is my bank draft and my cab?”