Lisa Spaar

Holy Week Madrigal

 

Every evening now, the geese.
I wish it meant something
more than shit-sludged pond
beside the local nursing home,

denial’s last resort, Our Lady
of Glacial Melting. I’m falling,
as I always pray to do, in derangement
of blossom-prosper, for you,

pined for, prior even to Saturnalian,
suspended nowhere-tilt of amnion.
Believe me. Or don’t. I could not cast
words more true, us, once suckling

the calving ice of mother’s milk,
pale as first light, magnetic blue as flight.

 


Artwork by Alfonse BorysewiczMother and Child, 2017, oil & wax on linen, 93″x61″.