Victoria Elizabeth Ruwi, three poems


Your vertical smile is like a symphony:

air vibrating with honeysuckle sound,

piccolo trill lips, coy trumpet harmony,

a refined overture where violins abound.

Your fingers tantalize in curved elegance.

Bow me, tuned cello wrapped in your thighs.

Velvet glide, enfold, incarnate us in trance.

Every rhythm of your trombone vibes

moves, slides amid a timpani timbre.

Clarinet, flute, double bass, palpitate.

Fairy tale my breath away, fine flutter

harp, celesta, glockenspiel tiers: sate.

Be my solo, entice a sonata so pure;

crazed crescendo entwined in rapture.


Mona Lisa is suspect. Gape at her in the

Louvre through a vitrine of bullet-proof

glass, crowds kept at bay by wood ellipse,

her hazy mystery protected for centuries

of breath. Da Vinci carried her everywhere

for twenty years, perhaps she is his mother.

Audubon watched wildlife in their habitats,

songbirds chirping their presence, vibrant

parents foraging food to nested newborns,

whooping crane in water, then shot those

birds he painted. Plunders of doves, nuns,

eagles, robins, hummingbirds, parakeets,

cuckoos, pillaged to capture every feather:

claret plumage flying through each canvas.

Look on Raphael’s Madonna of the Pinks;