MiPo Poetry Board Best of 2002

Elias

Nag champa spoke for you,
my boy of knotted spanish
hair, of long fingernails,
of paintings stacked against
that ceramic Ganesh.

All of this and a waterbed.
We’d sit to press bubbles
up and out after stinkbugs
danced to Philip Glass and
we chased and were chased.

Nag champa browned your art.
This we’d argue balloons over.
You swore it was red, I pointed
at greys. That bag rode twisters
before the movies turned it trite.

You’d burn letters and scream
and I’d face that painting, her
water bringing cool salt and
misplaced ships, and that mirror,
that damnable mirror, always

stuffing its side with the
minutest photograph of you
as I love you, shaded face
smirking, an unseen yucca
shaking left, your complement.

Next poem by Angela Armitage

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featuring the art of Georgia O'Keeffe