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Lorenzo Lotto's Annunciation
Other approaching Gabriels offer the lily In a ceremonial hush to humble girls Who bow their heads or touch their breasts. She whirls Away as the angel runs in willy-nilly And sinks to one knee, hair streaming—as if he hurries To get there ahead of God, who stretches His arm From a cloud in the doorway, while the striped cat scurries For shelter, its tail an elongated S of alarm.
Hands raised protectively, she turns to look Straight out at us—in shock, or mute appeal? Forgotten behind her lies the open book. In the tumult of the divine turned terribly real, Only her face is strangely still, the eyes Wide with apprehension and surmise.
Catherine Tufariello
From
Annunciations, Aralia Press, ©
2001; first published in
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