Melinda Giordano
Guillotine
The Sun King was dead
Yet when they cut off the Marquise’s hair
She was standing in the center
Of a sunburst of rough cuttings
Her habit de court had become a burlap gown
And manacles replaced her ornaments
No icons or escutcheons
Would decorate her with the respect
Of a soft introduction
Ever again
Outside the brothel elite
Were sequestered with their barbers
Discussing the shape of their hair
To make a halo of tight curls
Knotted around their necks were strips of scarlet silk
To taunt the harvest of the gentry
A bloodless tattoo to mock
The judgement day that waited in the sky
Hovering like Damocles’ sword
The sharp, final gasp
The Invitation
The dead seagull lay huddled in the rocks
Its head curved beneath its wings
In a solemn, moribund prayer
The air pricked at its feathers as if the bird still lived
And could feel the salty, impudent fingers
Nature tried to interrupt the corpse’s devotions:
The air, the ocean
Refused to let the deceased blood,
The slowly evaporating DNA
Disperse amongst the shoreline’s lonely cathedrals
I did not take a photograph of the body
To create a memory of its sadness
But the grief stays with me:
Of the soft creature prodded by the wind
Inviting it to join its salty ranks once more
Poor Parure
Poor parure
Torn from the vintage sinews
Of its platinum nest
Its Art Noveau coils
No longer resting on an ethereal bosom
And a subtle flesh
Atrophied with privilege
Pawned and brokered
Placed in the system
The foster home
Of velvet trays
Retrieved to settings sparse and unsentimental
To rest on the bones
Of the modern girl
Summer Skin
The thick and golden light
A stagnant sweet
Like turgid honey
Slow as candy
Pours onto my sticky skin
Clenched like a fist in the sky
The feverish sun
The familiar star
With febrile whim
Bruises my skin with its cruel caprice
Burning creativity
Architectural heat
Dimensional air
Sculpting the days
Varnishing my skin with sweat
Between birth and harvest
The curve of light
Radiant saber
Is piercing the sky
And blistering my skin
But with the dark equinox
The alchemy pales
I grip the shadows
And pull them towards me
To wrap around my weathered skin
