their heads crowned with waves of fuchsia, reminds you of the exposed
interior of the Big-eyed tuna you once saw flayed before you.
The rippled of purple meat descending like stalagmites; the thickly laid stucco of the inside.
This is what lay hidden for how ever long that Big-eyed reigned underwater--
the curtains of sliced fat, expanding beneath cold, blue scales.
You are brought back to the peonies by the pull of your child's hand.
You stand there, holding her up to the almost blooms,
the every second emerging globes of blush.
Your palm against the skin of her torso,
the feel of her ribcage like a small wicker basket lined with leaves.
You are reminded of her beginning place and yours,
those concealed rooms of flesh, now bloodless.
4 comments:
I love the emotion of this and the extreme 180 degree turn that starts the third line. That was so completely unexpected that I thought "no way she's gonna pull this off". But you did pull it off and very well, indeed. You go poet!
Thank you both. I have decided to start taking risks. I have finally come to the conclusion that there is nothing to lose.
I relish the details -- they make my imagination go on overdrive (no peonies growing here where I live).
Been reading your other poems here, too. I much enjoyed reading "Happening Now" (the lines 'move' as though a camera shows the sequence of actions). "Missing Kathleen" is a favorite (compact, with the memorable line "A shadow ascends in droplets").
Cheers.
S.L.,
Thank you for your insightful comments. I appreciate them very much!
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