Selvaggia

A family with seven girls
Is a demanding tribe.
A necklace made of scarlet pearls
Can only be a bribe.
It looks delightful but I swear
The pendant weighs a ton.
I wish I didn’t have to wear
This gown that fails to stun.

I wish I didn’t have to sit
And hold myself so still.
But do I argue? Not a bit.
It’s understood I will
Present my most attractive side
To those who will arrive
To take a look and then decide
If daughter number five

Is good enough. There’s no escape
From all the judging eyes
And the elaborate cascades
Of flattery and lies.
I wish I could get up and leave.
But do I? Not at all.
I’m stuck with endless make-believe
Behind a fortress wall.

My name would be a perfect fit
For someone born to thrive.
But does it fit me? Not a bit.
I’m Daughter Number Five.

*Selvaggia – Italian: wild, from Latin “silva”: inhabitant of the forest

Davide Ghirlandaio, Selvaggia Sassetti, ca. 1487-88