Menage

A-one, and a-two, and a-three
gray squirrels in slow-
motion chase:

this is when they come
into heat, as the restless town
sifts under powdered sugar.

Where is the rich broth with marrow,
where is the noisy brass gong?
Windowpanes color with steam.

Something celery and something orange
marry above the stove’s blue flame.
Somewhere a ledge of brittle ice

softens to syrup. You don’t see,
but sunlight’s shade turns
acetylene. A woman

steps out of her bath
kimono, and cranes stretch
tremulous above the grass.

What is that tinkle of brass
bells? New snow cascading
from branches, like wedding veils.

Luisa A. Igloria
01.12.2011

In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.

Series Navigation← CloserPreludium →

4 Comments


  1. I must say it is fascinating to see my humdrum observation giving rise to such ornate and exotic images!

    Reply

    1. I have even reached the point where I read the first couple of lines on Via Negativa and say: Oh this is one of Luisa’s. At least if I can’t write like that I can read it.

      Reply

  2. Margo, thanks for your very kind words :) Right now I’m just grateful for the poems; and grateful that Dave lets me play on The Morning Porch. :)

    Reply

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