hans memling: portrait of a young woman
Maybe Maria Moreel. We see her, at least.
She’s held safe in her frame, too chaste
for words. So pale and burgerlijk, so
aloof and distantly well-to-do
that someone later went and gave her
the name of Sibyl. Wished it on her, rather –
thought her to Persia, so mythically far
that we can’t reach her any more.
But she just wants to be here. Her hand - see
how it lies over the frame, as if she’s been
waiting beside a stiff window that opens
suddenly, centuries later, into this moment.