Princess Di smiles up.
She’s wearing a frilled blouse
and a black velvet ribbon at her throat.
I had a blouse like that.
I wore it the day we flew to Brunei,
the day before her wedding.
On television,
beamed to southeast Asia by the BBC,
I watched the endless train of her designer gown
sparkling in the English summer sun,
the crowds on London streets.
I thought she was the lucky one.
I wished that I was dead.
Outside
the monsoon rain beat
on iron roofs and swaying travellers’ palms.
She and I, the commoner and Lady Di,
both in transition, newly-wed.
Since then, we’ve both moved on again.
Now I’m the lucky one, for I’m alive.
Diana died as she kept up the pace
of high life living... and
no one dries their dishes
on an image of my face.
A really interesting poem here Jan, really poignant closeout. HG: -) xx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I get'cha. I had a car accident on the 30th August 1997. Her death brought home to me how lucky I'd been to have walked away from it! Ruthie