They are large, the breasts,
more than two handfuls’ worth.
I move the soft cloth over them
slowly, gently, though she is bronze
and does not require tenderness.
I give her tenderness. I touch her
the way I long to be touched,
unhurried, deliberate, leisurely.
Outside the window, the cottonwood trees
are as naked as she is. Last night,
I saw the full moon in their limbs
and my thoughts let fall all their leaves.
I want the full moon to linger on me
the way I linger now on the narrow stretch
of her body, putting a shine on every
inch. She is lovely, God, she is lovely,
with her head flung back and her
arm flung high, staring at the world
with her unchanging eyes.
Through the window, I watch
as no birds fly from tree to tree.
The emptiness between the limbs
is empty. My thoughts grow
faintly green.
just lovely/thanx
The breasts, such a start for this poem! And you’ve already got me thinking, I wonder if that’s why they call such a statue a bust :>) Anyway, I think it’s fabulous the way you use the statue as a reflection of the self, of the longed-for self, and of the larger world around the self. That polishing is such a fine excuse for clarifying and bringing all that into focus. I’m not convinced, though, that those last five words are the most powerful ending for the fullness this poem tries for. Possibly it’s the word “grow” that feels off, too much of a pun on the trees, but I’m not sure what to suggest, perhaps something like “My thoughts fill in the green” or not. But maybe that leads you toward what I’m feeling.
You nailed it I had the hardest time with the ending. I will let it get cold and come back to it Xo r
From: “comment-reply@wordpress.com” Reply-To: Date: Monday, December 8, 2014 at 8:03 PM To: Rosemerry Trommer Subject: [A Hundred Falling Veils] Comment: “Dusting the Breasts of the Doris Caesar Statue”
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