Celia Stuart-Powles – Ⅰ

Still-Life with Absinthe 

        Vincent Van Gogh, Paris 1887, Spring

 

 

 

 

Out of the melt-stained earth

I itch with the green pumping,

The transition, the molt from mud

To knotty bud, trees’ breaking

Into wings, brushing the blue sky

With dabs of white, my hands sprout,

 

This glass quivers with rank

Stirrings: viridian and daffodil—

Le fey vert waves her wand

And voila:  the artist leaps,

To chase her fluttering soul . . .

Cats prowl this season of love.

 

My heart melts: cubed-sugar

Dissolving in licorice light.

I pour through the clouds, dispel

Shadows inebriated—her spell

Sketching its magic on this—

My canvas: my heart.

 

On the table, four frames:

The Lovers and an ace (The Magician?)

Backs turned to this miracle

Of carafe and glass that hold

Enough light for a season—this genii:

Only my shoes weigh me down.