Six Poems

Paula Modersohn-Becker Speaks to Herself

I will become amber.

Daphne wanted
to become a tree.
I think
it was she who chose sweet laurel,
she who chose leaves that are always green.

But I need to go
deeper, into amber.

Already this light,
this sunny May morning
      in Paris
has turned my hair amber,
      the dark russet kind -
more red than gold.

My eyes: brownish amber
sparkle brighter than the necklace
...