Madeleine Albright wears two lapel pins.
Her lapel pins before this were increasing
self-definingly in size but not in number, their
        Goldness
distracting from her comments on TV. Speak
like a threatened but affectionate
schoolgirl and wear $10,000
worth of lapel pins, said mother,
to match your golden hair. I am
increasingly interested in roses. Any roses.
Old roses. Older roses. The oldest. My daughter’s
Empress Josephine porcelain doll in my lounge may have
seeped into my soul: the queen
as she was of growing roses. I refuse
to give them plant food, only water.
A rose must find its level, not ever
be forced. I am always seeking “Souvenir
de la Malmaison”, the gentle pink Bourbon
named after Josephine’s garden. One hopes she
loved roses more than she did Napoleon. One
pities two gold lapel pins.
Madeleine Albright likes Richard Butler,
who is soon to be “Diplomat in Residence”
at the Council of Foreign Relations in America.
On it are people like Kissinger, Rockefeller
and Albright.         Butler’s Australian
workplace nickname was always “The Black
Prince”, which sounds like a rose.
Australian roses when Butler grew up
had names like “Black Boy”, not the sort
of thing Empress Josephine would have done: a rose
should be named for one place or person.
“Pax Americana” sounds like a modern rose.
“Souvenir de la Madeleine”, perhaps
would have intrigued the Empress once.
When she was talking war but not bombing
quite so much, the secretary’s brooch
became a huge dragon. She has worn a gold snake
to torment Iraq, which called her one. Mrs. Rabin
hopefully gave her a dove pin.               The two
smaller pins must be an omen, hinting
maybe about splitting. I will have
a face that means I must have a brain
when I am older. And use it. I will wear
roses of gold at my shoulder, my heart, and my hair
will explode like the first gold rose.