Posted by Wendy on 1/3/2005, 10:58 pm How quick you are to acquaint me
209.179.150.8
You'll understand, I'm sure that I'm chasing the merest sliver of color. It's my own fault. I want to grasp the intangible
Claude Monet
(Camille silently addressing her husband in the field)
with poppies and sun tilting
its candles through the poplar trees.
The light burns hypnotic in your eye.
The moment becomes your mistress,
flamboyant and changeable;
but I am less than wife, detail
of an oil painted on canvas, well-absorbed
by its linen breadth and my service to you.
.
Will the artist ever understand
a woman is more intricate
than the loom-work of her parasol and gown?
Even they are borrowed for this scene.
You cannot afford the lace clothing, just
bowls, bottles and brushes
for your painting, a bridal trousseau for art.
I am jealous, so I cry
corsetted in stillness and perfume.
If only your hand would trace
the glow of fear on my cheek,
then you might grasp the intangible.
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