Woman as Pageant
It’s always in the eyes:
plea or pleasure.
Her breasts
a temptation to a tryst.
Hands–
two swans
creasing the night.
Mouth–
a train wreck
waiting to happen.
Words–
twist sestinas
into villanelles.
There’s defiance
in her shrug.
This shoulder
pillows a child’s head,
that shoulder
fields a lover’s sigh.
Someone’s chin
left a purple rose
on her collarbone.
She’s a dancer
without a dress.
She’s a waitress
serving dirty martinis.
She’s a princess
lost in metal.
Eyes widen in joy–
widen in terror.
She could be a tree,
but for those eyes.
Her halo
is really a rhinestone fan.
She is screaming,
no– she is laughing.
The thickness of paint
diffuses her furor–
binds her
into fields of color.
Her release
a seduction.
The ring
on her finger
has no hand.
She dances where strings
of mirrors hang from
fishing line like walls.
A mosaic: tits, ass,
and a powder puff
for a pussy.
She is the thought sandwich
which fills the bellies
of hunger artists.
Maria Garcia Teutsch
originally published at Poet Republik
originally published at Poet Republik
| Painting/Photography: Jonathan Apelbaum |
This poem also reflects my obsession with a specific work by Willem de Kooning, an early influence.
