K. Dana

Unseen

Glacial with indifference or roused

to effervescence by the scent of shame,

she was opaque with power.

Yet I cared for her with tenderness born of tolerance

painted her face in cadmium blue and goldleaf
sewed bloodred rubies to her lips, tear drop pearls to her ears.

Together, we had planted lies, harvested chimeras

toasting ghosted opulence with whiskey, neat,
dribbled over tongues made anxious by recollection,

heedless as the fogs crept in, nudging her askew,

until today it is 1945 her sixties the thirties or mine

and we foxtrot jitterbug hopscotch nap

throw tantrums throw parties throw curveballs and stones.

She is lightened, at the start; a burgeoning translucence

accentuates her charms, fosters a girlish exuberance.

But the lightness fades, crystalizes,
its transparency, a brutal lens, reveals the fragility

of the myths that bound us, their tenuous untruths.

She fades as well, forfeits to the ease of the shadows.

For a while, I watch our symbiosis shrivel.

When it is a wisp, I abandon it – and her.

Unfettered, I am incandescent

in the way of lava hissing over a cliff.

I lounge in gossamer silks, travesties ablaze,

belting my anthems to a tangerine sky

luxurious in its indifference.

Her memorial is woven by other hands,

the pomegranate velvet of her raiment embellished,

its corrosion masked with gaudy fabrications  

and slivers of ice masquerading as precious gems.

Just before the last pageant, she surfaces, ancient, bent, regally discomposed.

For a moment I capture her gaze

before she unsees me and slips away.