SONNET TO AN UNKNOWN LOVER
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.
THE WALLS ARE SENSITIVE
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;
see their pomegranate cheeks, lilac clothed
mom, unclothed son, his white pillow,
her fair hands, the tiny pinks, carnations
shared by child, by mother; how delicately
she breathes, how tender her baby coos.
TRYING TO AVOID THE CLICHE’
Our all day
I am a drought
I will forgive you
when leeches fly.
Bless the flesh
sprout those wings.
Victoria Elizabeth Ruwi survived cancer and began writing poetry. Her book, Eye Whispers, is a life affirming reflection on her experiences.