MISS ENA WERTHEIMER'S FAN
![4SoifmQpAbHrGFzRuz9TJ.jpeg](https://static.spacecrafted.com/c16cedb56ade42f28a800ed78cece1b1/i/cf14f5fb8be943a9ba41330e4c08cca7/1/GCuCv726gZycFxatRCb7iU/4SoifmQpAbHrGFzRuz9TJ.jpeg)
- 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?”