Genevieve Manset: Cardinal

Fall '10 TOC

She is plainer than her mate
whose vivid red inspires the watcher
to gather praise into one line of perception.

Isn’t it often like that? Too easy to play
on all that red, to get at marrow by breaking bone,
tear aside the clouds blooming at sunset
and exclaim at the first splash of blood.

So easy to be like that, even when what breaks often
is only deepest felt at the breaking:
patience, silence, friendship
a reddening unseen 
poured slowly
through us. 

Here again, in the branches of the gold tipped sycamore,
she is, still, her mousy self, herself a nest,
a citadel, while her mate’s platitudes
plume against spring snow.

Here again,
in the midst of his crimson
his sing-songing

blazes contained in her mark
their way as they surface,
each as fierce as any red that has ever broken us,
awakening to the world
awakening to this at once unforgiving whirl
this whirl of entanglements.

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Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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