|
The
Other World
Amy
Holman
1.
I'm
dreaming of whales and John Singer Sargent, the blues
and the greens, a fold of cerise, tremendous diving to hidden sea.
There's blood in the water and I'm not leaving.
2.
Let's
go see Carroll, Mom says, locking the perishables in
the cougar's trunk. We'd climb several staircases to his attic
apartment, sunning cats.
3.
6th
grade: save the whales with petitions, Audubon buttons, crepe
paper shapes on stakes in enormous lawns. I'm shy–a mother's
worry, an incomplete verdict–and shunned by so many girls.
But, I'm inside the whale that bled on the riverbank, dragged
through the Hudson from a blue sea.
4.
Waking
to riverbanks and parties of friends, some of us married, some
of us, not. Sargent's brush is quick as sun on the surface, his
eyebrows
windblown river. Skiff of red pillows that drifts under willows, I
rock,
my lids like tremendous whales passing over green sea.
5.
After
laughing an afternoon in shutter-caught light with the whole boy
and Mom's full smile, only I end up one half myself,
daydreaming, and
dull as soft pencil can fake me. John is the one free enough to
walk away.
6.
Shatterings–self
esteem, expectations–to glittering rubble. Not for her,
he paints Mom's portrait years after his days of portraiture for
rent.
Like Sargent over Madame Gautreau, he complains of elusive beauty.
She's sitting on a beautiful settee, glancing down, not smiling
broadly,
anymore. It all detaches – her retina, her marriage, their
friendship.
7.
I'm
a breathless child, the trapdoor opening, proud to be back with
artists, kitty corner to King's supermarket. He likes Hopper, he
hates
Wyeth. She likes art, she hates crafts. It's the details, it's
the light.
We are close knit, my brother's laughter taking the lead from
irritable
stories. The volley of this. Helios projects a slice of the other
world
through high windows, through tropical seas – a clutter of
easels, fans
of coral, a passing mammal. I'm dreaming we haven't lost this,
yet. |
Volume
I Issue I
