On bare walls at foursome sentry
to their yellow bedspread and feather-
filled battings, she wants to layer,
to paint wild thistle blooms — one blue
to regard, in turn, through her two
blue eyes; to dawn to; to take leave of
with their early sleep or coupled slaking.
Sky on sea, surf on undertow,
undertow on teal-streaked seashell.
The color that she desires despite
his edicts for white, his daylong denials.
Clouds on foam. Foam on bleached
bone. Once he took her, assuming
Biaco, Parian,lightless marble of
peer goddess, rare owl, flutings;
but she has ever veined blue, forever
rooted and thirsted outside the room
her paler man could lay a claim to.
by Therese L. Broderick
(An artist’s statement about this poem appears as the first comment.)