In Red
– Harmony in Red, 1908 Henri Matisse
Enough red to end
all desire for sex—reflected
in her stern countenance.
Her stance mocks
any sense of calm.
Neck, collar-entrapped,
right hand gripping
an epergne as though
it needed protection
from restraining vines,
frenzied bouquets.
Hair crouched on her bent head
like a heavy squirrel.
Two chairs, incompatible in scale,
failing to suggest depth.
Nothing as it should be,
but that tumultuous red.
Blue vines mounting redness,
crawling up red walls, grasping
relentlessly, red.
The paler red, vinegar,
in the cruet, must be sunlit
but such an obvious lie:
there is no source of light.
No outside, no
actual world. Only the faux
window out, no
escape.
Afraid to Enflame
–Everywhere is terrible and wonder-filled and overwhelming if you open your senses to the actual pulsating heat, Salman Rushdie
In August heat, hungry
swallows
lingered
above a mud wasp nest.
On TV,
polar bears feasted
gutting large whales
claw by claw
burning white fur
red.
From slammed doors and wrath
hiding
lambent embers.
Had to be smart,
mind, an agile teenager
reading each word’s blaze
spoken or not.
