Sarah was so angry it hurt my heart.
Yes, her Pierre was flagrant, hyperbolic, gregarious,
But he’d never before brought home a model to paint.

Here in her home.
This special place.
Thank God the children are away.

Slim, blond, vivacious, the intruder’s energy mirrored Pierre’s.
Now they were hiking, now repairing the fence.
When walking, her pace mirrored his.

I crept to the garden, purple with flowers, to see the painting –
Tender and passionate, that one bloomed on the canvas
As a goddess come to light.

Pierre dead? Such magnificence gone?
Now Sarah is arrested –
The poison bottle, her fingerprints on it.

But wait – the poison is different.
It’s the foxglove, found in the garden
Gathered by that one, added to his tea.

She could not tolerate Pierre’s love for Sarah,
devotion to their family.
If she couldn’t have him, then no one else could.