Confession Time
Writing a Poem with Monet
It’s April and I’m growing green, but bills cover my desk.The money in my check book dazzleslike the mineral caves carved by the surf at Pourville, where Monet stood at his easel to paint thundering waves.
I sign my check in the lower right as artists will, re-total the balance and turn up a new one. Diamonds a mile down in Monet’s sea crack, chip, and erode. A crash.The hissing wave spreads geodes on the sand.I cross-hatch a sketch on the “payee” line.
Monet painted in a hurry. Maybe I should writemyself broke quicker. I scrawl a verse on “amount.” On “date” I riddle time. Another smash. More gems float away, twinkling,
and my ledger’s full of emptiness, dark water tipped by snowy zeros. A few more lines and I’m emptied out, thinking of Monet
as I lick stamps, close envelopes, and face the slack tide. Here’s a new swell and surge. There’s the pen, glowing in shifting, pastel light.
~ from Gods of Water and Air (Aldrich Press, 2013)
It’s April and I’m growing green, but bills cover my desk.The money in my check book dazzleslike the mineral caves carved by the surf at Pourville, where Monet stood at his easel to paint thundering waves.
I sign my check in the lower right as artists will, re-total the balance and turn up a new one. Diamonds a mile down in Monet’s sea crack, chip, and erode. A crash.The hissing wave spreads geodes on the sand.I cross-hatch a sketch on the “payee” line.
Monet painted in a hurry. Maybe I should writemyself broke quicker. I scrawl a verse on “amount.” On “date” I riddle time. Another smash. More gems float away, twinkling,
and my ledger’s full of emptiness, dark water tipped by snowy zeros. A few more lines and I’m emptied out, thinking of Monet
as I lick stamps, close envelopes, and face the slack tide. Here’s a new swell and surge. There’s the pen, glowing in shifting, pastel light.
~ from Gods of Water and Air (Aldrich Press, 2013)
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