AUTUMN on the RIVER/ 1889/ John Singer Sargent
THANK YOU, Tess...Magpie Tales
PRIVILEGE
Veiled within my swaddling,
I exhale a wish,
seekng a promise
that I become an icon.
I develop my heartbeat,
imagine what rapture I'll feel
when swathed in spendid regalia.
In the offing,
a chrysalis will peel,
thrust me out,
hang me by a thread
as my blood pumps.
I'm hoping that my wings
will be a raven's.
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As you can see by my header, my heart belongs to JSS.
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THANK YOU, Tess, for Magpie Tales..
DEAR JOHN,
I can't imagine that you will actually receive this. Perhaps you have longevity in you as we do in our family.
By rights, we both could have passed on to our eternal rest by now. This old woman, reading your letter, little resembles the scarlet tressed girl you just proposed to.
Did anyone know your mind? I didn't. We spoke rarely before you left the hospital, poor wounded soul, and yet our tiny flirtation seemed to stir within you a dream of permanence only now uncovered.
Life is so odd, don't you think? I have sadly survived my sister Anne, who introduced us. And she the beauty I was sure you fancied. Yet here am I holding your letter, found neatly folded at the bottom of a faded bundle.
Who unsealed it and then put it aside, for me to never see, until a moment ago, sixty years later?
I led a good life, lost much I loved. Perhaps similar to yours. At the end we are all so much alike. Looking for clues as memory fades. Was this really me?
I wonder now if you survived the war. Or gone perhaps these many years. Maybe my words will just shake up your ghost.
Eyesight faded, I sit daily at the window of my daughter's home, wishing for life to be a dream. Today it became one. If you are still willing, I think I will say yes for you to come to call.
Fondly,
Maggie
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Danseus ajustant sa bretelle, Edgar Degas, 1895/96
THANK YOU...Tess...at Magpie Tales
THE POSE
In the wings,
away from the corps,
Degas
whispers to me,
the way,
and the answer.
An invitation
to pose after the dance,
a gossamer tutu,
a promise for fame,
as I step into a grand-plie',
take on an arabesque,
spin a pirouette.
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RESURRECTION REUNION 2 / 1945/ Sir Stanley Spencer
THANK YOU, Tess...Magpie Tales
ENTER RISING
They say we look alike,
it's the pallor of our cheeks,
the breath we gasp,
when we enter
rising,
wondering
what is this place?
Is it meditation, sleep,
death, exit,
entrance?
Which chakra are we jammed at?
I'm heading for the crown,
stop pining away at Plexus.
My lips already flash
a spank of tangerine,
yours, no question
need a lick of color.
How are we alike?
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