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From the same Venetian vase, I tore these
by Shirin Swiftthe sea has stolen my palette is coyly etching my body
and yours my thoughts and yours from the sole up
raking the peace that dries on both the sea's and my inside-out tongue
a being over the shoulder seeing itself developing
charcoal outlines of each calf just beginning to puff and chug
while every inner part is flat-chested as an orchestra pit
overshadowed by the stage's frank bosom;
the sea struggles over my knees, dimpled as old oven mitts,
and erases my thighs to smears; grays out my eyes
greens in my veins; tearing out the untidy pages that have failed
the sea has drawn my mouth in the shape of the holy grail
you, spirit, appear between my teeth like a visitor to the Sistine Chapel
that is the closeness of your inborn, irreligious, blistering fragrance
my mouth is burning with you, my body a dissipating taper,
swaddling sunsets and chipping off hieroglyphs
until your cheeks are the temperature of newly-bathed toes
and you, yourself, are too tethered to a sunset to move out of the water,
and I can bask in your happiness and love you once more
yet i am leaving you the vase as an offering and its second-hand
contents: a yellow genus an octet of corn-haired roses,
from the same Venetian vase I tore these red ornamental roses
that lapsed into miniature crosses for the table décor,
and serpents for the wine glass stems and when bunched
performed the role of a brocade of living
beetle feet scrabbling behind my ear to brighten the rooms
from which all the paintings were absolved and reborn
as singling notes on vinyl discourses 12/27/2006 Posted on 12/27/2006
Copyright © 2024 Shirin Swift
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/27/06 at 04:13 PM So rich in detail and vocabulary! |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 12/29/06 at 10:36 AM Ah and here I see those rainbow colors again in the sea--and just as I thought --they come from your palette. The progression from foot to head-- (sole to mind?) as if stepping out from shore, the water rising up touching each level (physical and psychological) as if one is wading out into the deep. Yes. And the etching-- the ocean etches, I have seen it, mysterious life-like forms like portraits, as here. And it seems as if it is left for the sea as an offering (perhaps its own etched vase (with the portrait of you) offered-- to that twin spirit --left to sink --or float off even with the old blooms. I savor the details here--as the ocean itself does, with its "inside-out tongue"--a wonderful image for the sea lapping toward the shore (carrying treasure). There is such richness here, one could play in these tidepools endlessly. |
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