Tessa, So This Is An Impressionist Poem

Edgar Degas, Breakfast after the Bath II

I’m no ascetic. The sun pouring in
as she stepped out of the bath
and the servant girl brought coffee
in a cup. She towelled her hair
vigorously, one thigh leaning against
the edge of the tub.

She cut a mythic figure like a nude
lass a painter would’ve painted.
Bent awkwardly now. Towel having
been flung to floor, covering rug.
Stepped on to dry her soles,
a perfect state of undress.