How I Came to This Place
Hidden in your landscape, a faded bruise among muted leaves;
the horizon stays distant, electric as my trembled body.
I catch your eye, & you contemplate the lines of my body
on its own canvas. But you see, Im done
with our portrait sittings.
I will no longer be an idea, a mere muse.
This lush earth … it just rained and is going to rain.
I will not return to your drafty studio,
to the red chaise lounge chair. I will not undress for you.
I abandon your gaze and step out of the canvas.
Here nothing yields to you, & I run
my hand along the stone wall.
I press my water-colored body deep
into the ground, making promises that Ill return.
That I will reemerge as wildflowers in this meadow, this pasture,
but, no, this is not a pastoral poem.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 50 | Fall/Winter 2017