A woman yields
to on-coming traffic. Pigeons lift from the road.
A bearded man cycles by
in his straw hat and white shirt. A knapsack with easel
strapped behind.
Manet cloned.
He is going somewhere to paint
a rowboat dozing
among cattails and a morning breeze. Their reflections
splintered. A rippling spill
of blues and greens. Brown soft
as the pelt of a muskrat And the sun warm; pond musk
deepened by its heat.
The woman checks her mirror.
A man slowly disappears into his dream.
Birds have flown to street lamp or tree.
The asphalt shimmers;
and she makes her turn thinking
of another impressionist. How age
has slightly fractured the lake
of her skin.
Fine lines ripple
under the eyes, around the mouth.
Yet when the right wind sails
across her face, she feels them shrink
under lashes (still) sprouting thick
like the water willow;
and lips that haven’t swelled
with collagen — but a burst of words.
The brief overflow
of a poem. Her breath thawed into Spring.
A fascinating glimpse at the momentary intersection of two lives. We start with the woman, but quickly switch to the man; seeing his plans for the day and the colors and images of a painter’s view of the world. We return to the woman and see her through her eyes as she considers the canvas of her skin.
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Hi Michael
Thank you so very much for this wonderful and intuitive commentary on my poem. I am glad you enjoyed this and really appreciate your perspective on this piece!
My Best
Wendy
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Captured.
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Thank you Craig,
I am glad the imagery and theme were “captured” in this poem. I sincerely appreciate you reading my work and sharing your perspective!
My Best.
Wendy
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