After Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh
Star-crossed lovers unite high above as the city slips into slumber. I
alone keep watch at the lighthouse, longing to be swept by the big
wave, feel it rolling me in its indigo fingers cooling me into a ball of
blue ice, a maddened dervish whirling layers and layers of sea and
sky in the ways of the Crazy Redhead who keeps the secret of every
stroke, I choose to ignore these black leaping flames springing out of
hatred and envy, a bonfire lit with rolled parchments filled with lost
dreams and rosemary, its sparks scattering yellow poppies in a
cerulean field. How I wish you could see how the timid evening
crescent nests inside its golden case.
First published by Parting Gifts
From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)
Or How Long Do You Think She Could Keep It Up Without Falling?
After The Shining One by Salma Caller
It’s when the palm trees started swaying under the soaring wind
that she held on tighter to the large olla resting on her shoulder,
readjusting its base over the crowned woven cloth that kept it
in place. She loved the cooling touch of fresh clay against her
cheek as her stride espoused the rhythm of the feathered branches
whirling like disheveled women in a maddened trance, oblivious to
the rising lament calling for the evening prayer. Unlike other days,
when she’d follow her daily route impervious to the male gaze that
forced her to lower her eyelids, her eyes still filled with the sight
of the horseman riding a nervous stallion alongside the shore, of
a mare licking her foal in concentration, and the distant felucca
gliding over the Nile’s silvery mirror. The wind blew harder and
as she strived to maintain her balance her steps got caught into an
automatic dance. She sensed the ruffling and rustling of butterfly
wings against her waist, around the mouth of the jug, and down
her back. She no longer felt the weight on her shoulder unaware
that her dreams were pouring out of the jug in a whirlwind of blue
mist swirling into a shape-shifting jinn as though blue lotus petals
had been steeped inside the well’s clear water
First published by The Bitter Oleander
From Or Did You Ever See The Other Side? (Press 53 2023)
Shipwrecked
After Santiago and Sheila by Jacob Collins
Her body sinks into the wavy sheets, the sea of down calming after
the assault, the raging battle of the senses leaving her inert, absent, her
thighs ripe and fragrant, a guava still reeking of our mixed juices:
time after time we have risen from the abyss, empty carcasses lying
on a raft of bitterness. Why this urge to go down the stairs, press on
the accelerator? Only then does my hand measure the heaviness of
her breasts, correct the choreography of each gesture, motion her to
dress and undress as I compose a montage of my favorite stills, like
a child playing at forbidden games, I want to do it all at once, merge
the end with the beginning, yes, she sighs, you have touched my soul,
melts into a mirror of water: a star quivers, I lose myself in the
middle of its eye while we drown in the waves we create: there’s no
ocean to sate my thirst until I face the wrinkled sheets weighing on
me and want to leave again.
First published by Change Seven
From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)
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