Table of |
Armless, headless, onyx
weight shifts to the left foot
the other leg bent at the knee
a modest gesture shielding
her love muscles
belly and hips
square over thick thighs
pressed close, a ballast of strength
her trunk dips to the left,
almost a twist, a nod
to a natural posture, a middle-aged
sculpture but for the breasts so
oddly at their prime.
Small Catholic girls waited for it.
Women wrapped in habits extolled it
on a road show from school to school.
They conjured up images
of what it would be like
to be a bride of Christ.
It was all too confusing for young minds
yet just mysterious enough to lure disciples.
©before the pyramides in Vi Vo Amsterdam
by Corina T.v.M.
the night curls
Under the garden,
Until our reflections
Rise sharp, gaunt
Above the candlelit table
As day is removed
To make space for now.
Keeper of the Flame
Snatched by the storm clouds of war,
from unnatural kettles of black smoke
consuming the very ground
beneath them. Scratchy films,
newsreels interrupted by seconds
of silence as though this event
would drop out of sight forever.
Meticulous documentation preserves
the mythology of death for centuries,
for generations, for tourists.
A rake twitches, twigs snap,
I follow the sounds into the stark shadows
hanging over Remuh Cemetery at twilight.