In another life… by Elaine Edwards
I would have been a singer, full-bosomed,
belting out arias in Paris and Milan.
Myriad fans would shout “Bravissimo” from balconies,
flinging roses at my feet.
I would have been a dancer, sinuous-limbed,
entwined in a pas de deaux
while my partner mutters obscenities in my ear
as I slither round his shoulders.
I would have been a chef, ample-bottomed,
rosy-cheeked among the steam,
adding spices, sampling sauces,
smiling as berry juice runs down my chin.
I would have been a courtesan, velvet-eyed,
languishing among scented cushions
in my emerald gown, positioned
so the light glows from the right.
I would have been an actress, Grande Dame-d,
reading scripts in my sitting room,
with directors clustering at my door
waiting for my beckoning finger.
In another life
I would have been…
The night gives way to pastel sky.
Before the sun can lift its pitiless face to me
I get up
boil the kettle
make the tea.