The Artist Addresses Her Own Imagination

(Poem by Wendy Howe )

I am left in our tea room
sipping brewed rose hips and piling
brass coins on a tabletop.

You are off to the islands
prone to explore stone temples
and breezy hillsides for inspiration.

Sea shell in hand, you hear the ocean
clearing her throat and becoming
the voice of a soprano goddess
on the coastline of Cyprus.

Your narrow back
has palms, blossoms -- even sails
tattooed in shadow by the sun
a map highlighting fragrance and leisure.

Sunday morning, you return
and we will be born again --
a new woman drawn, curving
along sanguine lines of ink
and a pastel scarf that loosely binds
her Botticelli hair.
© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail.

To know more  about this poem,   about Wendy Howe

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Autoportrait en cinémascope

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Autoportrait en cinemascope

© 2011,

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