I close my eyes and see you still, strolling
the Herengracht’s bank that first day we met.
Sun caressed your curls. Fishermen trolling
called out, praising your smile. I won’t forget
how you blushed when I bowed, saluting you
as William’s stadtholderette, your laughter
ringing like Zuiderkerk’s bells. Your friend, who
frowned like a moistened prune, stalked off after
you kissed my cheek. Wandering Amsterdam,
we pledged love outside Rembrandthuis. Oh, how
you glowed in moonlight. I call you madame
still, despite my father nulling our vow,
your mother cursing my life. Now you’re free
of me, but not my heart. François-Marie
Roger Armbrust
December 27, 2007
