Yellow bonneted American doll, doubled, your plasticity trembles, gracing
matriarchal power, even death, with your glance. According to my artist
friend’s study, you tilt-a-whirled that fateful Dallas day, when a sniper’s
bullet tore John, your Camelot king away from your convertible perch.
Years later, again, air betrayed JohnJohn, your prince, in his small plane stalled
over fogbound sea. Elemental betrayal of wife and mother, yet still you glow.

Yellow, yeasting
Hue of joy. Smiles.
Love’s bow-ribbons.
Widow’s black. Wife/
mother’s grief cannot
eclipse the quickening
bright . . . stronger than
fickle, undying night.