‘On Viewing Dante and Beatrice by Henry Holiday, 1884’ by Beatriz Fernandez The Society October 4, 2013 Culture, Poetry From Dante, to Beatrice In your father’s garden we first met, a pair in exile, two children playing without a care, in our shared exile. You were eight, I, nine, you in crimson and I blind to all else but the fall of your fair hair, from my exile. For nine years I lived for a word from you, or a smile, and nightly dreamt of your emerald stare, Love, my exile. All in white you flowed like the river Arno beside you, one strong wind would carry us from there, to blissful exile. But you married another and fled life at twenty-four— in death’s garden my love, a bloom so rare, thrived in exile. Live forever in my songs, consume my burning heart, over my flayed bones murmur a prayer, dust in exile. My secret savior, I sang for you alone–to my muse, my Beatrice, from your Dante, soul bare, so lost in exile. From Beatrice, to Dante At the garden party I sought to hide in my secret spot, and found a boy already ensconced there, secret friend as you would soon become—so shy was I, even my parents I would not dare tell of my secret regard for you, which grew as you did, so tall, so dark, all broad shoulders and long legs, in your eyes secrets which I could not read. Even as I sensed your gaze follow me as I strolled with my sisters along the Arno, my secret longing for you bound my tongue, all I could do was gaze– back at you—what earthly good could become of this secret when my father had already chosen my groom-to-be? I had no right to speak to you and give you secret hopes to dream about—all the burden was on my side. Forced to submit, become a reluctant bride with a secret hidden deep, so hopeless, so shameful—my love for you burning like a dagger in my chest, a tormenting secret with no end in sight. I welcomed the respite of death in the face of a life filled with despair, at least my secret would die with me—with my last breath I bequeathed you my memory of you, our shared childish laughter in a secret garden, your hand in mine, innocent love which lost its way, a lifetime of longing for you, my Dante, my divine secret. B. F. Fernandez was the grand prize winner of Writer’s Digest 2nd annual poetry award and recently won 2nd place in Spark, A Creative Anthology’s Contest Two. Her poems have appeared in Verse Wisconsin, Lorelei Signal, Spellbound, Cyclamens and Swords, Spark, Vol. II and Writer’s Digest. Her poetry was chosen to be read on South Florida’s NPR news station and she was the featured writer on the Latina Book Club blog. By day she is a university reference librarian at Florida International University in Miami. Contact her at: www.beasbooks.blogspot.com or twitter: @nebula61 Related Post ‘To a Red-Winged Black Bird on the Advent of Spring... To a Red-Winged Black Bird on the Advent of Spring For some a robin heralds in the Spring. Others: a crocus or a daffodil. My old man claims it’s... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.