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Thistling

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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, Yule — blightless 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.
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by Therese L. Broderick
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(An artist’s statement about this poem appears as the first comment.)

About ThereseLBroderick

Independent community poet living in Albany, New York USA.

One response »

  1. ARTIST’S STATEMENT about this poem
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    Fact & Fiction ~
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    This poem was inspired by compromises my husband and I make about which rooms in the house can be painted blue (or other colors), and which rooms must remain white. Biaco, Parian, and Yule are whitish kinds of marble.
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    Sound & Sense ~
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    In this poem, I experiment with an approach new to me. I seek to heighten sound effects and to reduce narrative. The recognizably human situation of the poem is submerged; plain ways of stating things are abandoned in favor of oblique, slanted — but I hope intriguing — language. I want the images and diction to hover near one another in orbit, but not to settle into fixed snapshots or captions.
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    .

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