Orlando Poem by Mark Heathcote

This portrait picture of Orlando
is still somehow strikingly fresh,
her lineaments dress no scarecrow.
Whether it's male or female
a heavy-suit is a father's crèche
a caring parent makes us wear
myself I wore genderless clothes
when able to pay for my wares.
It's as striking as eyes set on a raven
still to see a woman like Vita,
wearing her Sunday best.
Her manly appearance aroused both sexes
her face, quite oval, her jawline pronounced
she was a poet of changing seasons
a poet of fluctuating genders
Sissinghurst Castle Garden,
was her one and only, blank white canvas?