Sunday, May 3, 2020



"...And a breath of lemon filled the vast moment/as the wind became a flower of gauze..."
~from Nocturnes from the Window, by Federico Garcia Lorca

I am behind the wall now
wearing red and a window.
I will be safe
if you see through me
only white sky, the almond tree
and grass.

I wore the mask til blood
stained through
the sting of a flower; it
told too much with its 
sibilant drip. That 
was not safe.

I am a camellia from
snow country, cut
at the stem, dying in aqua vitae,
a fragrance passing citrus
through your room. I will be safe
when the last petals
cover my cast off mask.

May 2020

posted for The Sunday Muse

I have also used several words from Kerry O'Connor's

Images: A Distant Future, © Raluca Caragea   Fair Use
Yellow Roses in a Vase, 1882, by Gustave Caillebotte, manipulated    Public Domain


  1. I feel reserved stillness in your poem ... as well as lurking danger. Beautiful write. Stay safe .....

  2. This poem is absolutely gorgeous. Every perfect word.

  3. To be alive is to be in danger in some way, I think. And so, that leaves only one safety we can achieve. The trick may be--while tricking the eye and stopping as much drip as possible--the be beautiful even in our temporariness, and even in our departing. Can it be done? I think Lorca would say "si" and he would know.

  4. The bittersweet stillness of life. This is utterly lovely even in its reminder of all that must end. Breathtaking poetry Joy!

  5. A beautiful write. I like the image created by the last lines.

  6. Just playing around the mask can reveal that wonderful trait in your beautiful language mastery, Joy! How's the going Ma'am, stay safe!


  7. Oh! So much great writing here. "wearing red and a window." -- amazing.
    "I wore the mask til blood
    stained through
    the sting of a flower" -- also amazing!

  8. Great words - beautiful with a hint of ...

  9. I think this is wonderful. A totally immersive read, I felt like I was the woman in the painting/poem 'wearing red and a window'.. What a brilliant imagining, Joy.

  10. there is a certain finality in the last 3 lines that calls from the earth. or the grave, which, I suppose, might be the same ~


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats