After Gauguin
A chrysanthemum moon rises over Mouse Island,
Li Po’s monthly drunk. We gather here
in this ephemeral calm between the rose
and rugosa dawn, here, in Tenants Harbor.
The chaiselounges form a Druid circle, while a dog
watches from the mist of the lawn of the East Wind Inn;
I turn, as superstitious as a horse.
A youth reaches for mango under the pergola,
scalloped blouses luff, spilling flesh in the dusk,
and a slash of vermillion breaks the verge.
The kelp stirs, the slack
tide turns, the skiffs surge.
Search for a pearl, plant the seed of fruit-de-mer,
the sorrows will swell like yeast, until the penumbra
covers the shore where the young woman broods,
and the old one prepares to die.
The white bird waits with the goat and the cat,
Thank God citronella masks the stench
of mussels lying thick in the flats by Long Cove Quarry!
So come dine with us tonight on salmon
with fennel, anise, coriander...
Join us, the table linens will glow with candlelit lilies!
We’ll take the Puffin Cruise tomorrow to Little Egg Rock.
On Sunday, Monhegan? Where else could we possibly go?
2009
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