Poetry from AGNI, Web Issue 5



DEREK WEBSTER

    Odalisque


      "Now that lilacs are in bloom
      She has a bowl of lilacs in her room"

    Florida. Wallace Stevens and pink
    ice-cream. My gay friend says, Girl,
    have you ever screamed in anger?
    Well-that's not me.
    I am "slender," sound as a flute:
    in the crisp air of winter, wear nude
    stockings and a lavender suit,
    to find out who needs me.

    In lightning, under sheets, I sweat
    a yellow angel of regret.
    Behind me, grass and branches turn
    green: the world is fleet.

    They see themselves upside-down
    in me. All men are dogs, the married
    doubly so: they think another clown
    floats in my mouth, and has a bone
    to prove it. Well, I won't get carried
    off; I've never minded that,
    to feel a mind work me like meal,
    be written on, oh, even to feel
    a sculpting pen adjust my hat:
    we live for such a moment.
    I've had lovers-who has not?
    Virgins horde their fruits. They rot.

    I played gin rummy with sleeping pills,
    took social visits to a psychiatrist-
    was never asked to pay the bills;
    he made me triste-
    Half-revealed, a crescent moon,
    I stayed up nights, unwhole and sharp-
    knowing that I move,
    not that I fall.

    On airplanes, highrises, trees,
    a peacock of shattered glass.
    I wonder, would I scream,
    to see myself at last?

    Today I cut my leaves and stalk
    a lover, lilac bowl in bloom.
    My train is a promise deferred,
    my French a smile and single words.
    Side to side we'll slowly rock.