Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
The Haunted Hat-shopMax Michelson
The Woman.[Before the mirror.]No, no, thank you; this one
Would cost too much. I will just—
No, no; I can not—
[Stands before the mirror, fascinated.]
I drink your beauty.
By your body.
Your limbs are swathed and clothed.
Your face is covered
With shadows.
Still I drink,
I drink.
My greedy soul sips the beauty
Of each curve so delicate.
My eyes are golden bees—
Your mouth’s a rosy flower.
Hold your body for your lover!
I delve
For dearer treasures.
I will steal you for my own.
Thinner, softer, dearer:
I will shape your limbs for me,
And coil and uncoil your speckled hair.
Little glints between the shadows,
Little holes in the face of the sky.
Stars … Eyes …
[From some place behind the partition comes the peculiar giggle of a woman.]
A flower.
I can not.[Whispering is heard.]What is this?
Up a mountain?
Are you skipping
Down a valley?
Are you hiding
In my body?
The horizon—
Is it you?
Flesh is weak wine
For the heart.
A little haunted.
I—I am really a fairy—the witch-fairy Genève.
You may own this hat
If you lend me your soul
For the time of a spell—
For the time it takes me
To boil the lizard’s liver.
[Giggling is heard again. The Woman makes for the door, beginning to take the hat off, nervously.]
I never hurt them;
I never let harm happen to them.
They are my children; dearer.
[Madame holds her arm and whispers long to her soothingly.]
[Madame takes her arm. Partly drawn, she goes along. Madame whispers to her.]
Hear her soft step …
Time, space and all
Lie—a crumpled rag—
Behind her …
Hear her step …
Her soft step …
Of some bank.
Gentlemen … always
Highly recommended.
[A man is dimly visible sitting at a little table on which is some wine.]
[She hesitates, half fascinated. Her eyes and the man’s meet. Husband and wife face one another, raging spasmodically.]
Pirouetting,
Grimacing,
Puffing out—
Withering,
Withering.
[She stands against the wall, crying. Suddenly she bursts out laughing.]
[He recoils with extreme contempt. After pacing the room, he speaks firmly.]
Let us
Talk this over.
[His gaze falls, and rests on the portières of a little room.]
[Laughs again.]
[He rises, but sits down again. His appearance becomes mysteriously changed.]
[She repeats, crying tauntingly.]
We are strangers!