Cathedral by Joshua Garcia Rodin Museum, Philadelphia Two bodies emerge from stone as if from the hand of god, mouths touching, daffodils crowding the cold soil. None of the lovers here look like us. Except, perhaps, Damned Women, their faces buried, one’s ass plastered in the air. Like Rodin’s hands, the drama is the space left between them. I am afraid to ask what you believe. We are not lovers. We talk about cherry blossoms, take turns finding the restroom. We laugh at Balzac, whisper, Say his name again. Our hands do not touch. There are gardens & staircases.
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I love art about art. I also like the use of negative space as drama. Things unspoken are the drama and the romance. Reading it over and over and funding double meaning in the seemingly unimportant
This poem describes a long married or partnered life. I sort of needed this right now. Thanks for posting. subscribed.