it is what it is. it is what i have.
* * * * * * * * * *
her red dress, or, untitled
empty well
forced her to the wall
where she sat
sketching
wind
around corner
shadow of her
fills corridor
eyes lined with kohl look back
who put the red pale there
needing to be filled needing to be emptied
when will it reach equilibrium?
open wardrobe stands
containing damp wool
warm leather
one’s deepest concerns fill creases
her small hand searches fleece pocket
fiber from which
swallowtails rise amongst tall stalks
what of the chipped marble orb,
broken chain,
folded notes written in lead
what of the old mosaic tile
can’t be found in the velvet lined chest
she lay in the native grasses
and cut moon from stone
* * * * * * * * * *
(it was different 7 days ago)
1 comment:
i am just dazzled by the images - especially the pocketfiber to swallowtails - that sort of transference, love it - magical! i had a boy named sebastian in my 6 and under art class i taught (like they needed any teaching - i was just along for the ride, more of like a student of theirs!) out in oakland who painted the wind one morning, then painted "the song it makes," how do i wish i'd kept a copy too!
the last two lines make me sad but are deeply peaceful, restorative, exquisitely "chiseled" i might add. thanks for zoe-ing that zoe!
luv,
ames
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