05 August 2006

 

the art of becoming invisible

by Steve Porter

If I could I would paint a portrait
of a person who lies dying in bed.

There would be an open window
somewhere in the background,
two floors up and rather small
but vivid as a postage stamp,
and chartreuse curtains curtsy
as a silky breeze flutters in and
the eye decides where to look.

Outside the window can be seen
the counterpoint that is nature-
tree, bird, sky, the rolling hills
bright and green with life, and a
road leading somewhere far away.

If I could I would paint
a wry smile on your face,
your blue eyes open, your
skin pink as a peach and
hands in prayerful repose,
folded around a book of
your favorite poems.

Oh, if only I could I would paint
large roses just like de Longpre,
and they would be white and
beautiful and blooming with life
in a crystal vase, in a corner
on a table off to the right.

Finally, one who loves you,
sitting in a plumb cast chair
beside the big mahogany bed,
reading to you from the book
that you hold in your hands,
the art of becoming invisible.

 

on bug patrol

by Doug Millison

I find bugs in the flowers,
take it for a sign:
creepy-crawlies
crawling ugly, deep,
spewing come-on
tracks of waste
inside me,
certainly.
That's how this mind works.
No metaphors,
these bugs,
sucking my life
sure as invisible
worm ever
sapped flower.

–El Cerrito, 23 June 2006

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?