Colorado Review

140 LAURA SOLOMON THE RED ROSE: A TALE OF PASSION We devoured each other until there was nothing left but the bones. The bones divested of pride. The humiliated bones. Finally the bones were left alone and permitted to speak: “I have always loved you my dear, pardon me for the loss of your favorite toe.” “And me for the burning of your beautiful hair.” “And me for having dislocated your shoulder so hastily.” “And me for having boiled your cock in wild mushroom broth along with your tongue.” “And me for having flattened your breasts with a straightening iron—that must have been quite painful.” A long silence ensued and grew. Grew like a red rose or a very tall ear. Grew like a skyscraper that covered the city with its shadow. Women wept without knowing why. Men turned melancholic and domineering toward their children, who in turn misbehaved and developed very bad characters. Before long the city was filled with hoodlums and the meanest of crimes prevailed. From the corners of empty eye sockets, our bones kept peering at one another wondering who would speak next but no one ever did. 141 LAURA SOLOMON FROM “ACCORDEON” There are things we love for their timelessness And things we love no less For their lack of depth in time In the dark Grove of prisoners: a maze A twin moon lake Books and sleep And life with other people Sad as mud I will grow tusks Announced a leaf or seed with wings And the road Hovered like a bee inside a helicopter That suddenly spun Away Like a knot that has turned into string Some sort of nothing that noodled Onward through hills Bright and blindingly white The flowers were Bold stars venturing novel green skies While all along the hours were busy Hoisting themselves up into jolly-roger years I will grow tusks laughed the leaf 142 With youth in the mouth And God in the pocket it’s easy To laugh yourself to tears Cathedrals played melodies Whenever God didn’t Others were content with their mutton But not I Cried una poeta maledetta Who spied that kamikaze aquiver and coveted Along with cosmic union The classic assortment of adventures Up with which mutton-eaters do not put Much more than a foot nel cul And so with banished ass in hand the fool child was sent Desperately ill equipped With no coat With no boot With no head for that matter Armed only with ears that prayed for feet Her heart was a naked boy that ran Beside her on a leash A world-class stutterer The dream of La Poeta was to be granted articulation In whichever language she spoke There was hair Growing on the floor But people kept calling it carpet why Fire must be in another place And I As windy as a newly sovereign state 143 Now above a deadly sea Do sail Oh that sea was always there But who ever saw it and lived peacefully thereafter Later would arrive lessons But first diversions All ladders leading to unpainted rooms Painted pink, i.e., clever clouds And their beloved ruts But no parade of doom dared grace our public hall Meanwhile the leaf Announced that it would find all the connections And build a house where they could live The homeless applauded For it was a fine thing All that sunshine polish on the edifices Of castles and shacks alike, like Democracy at last man And with a running gasp she gripped the horse What had it meant to be there Itching with blind life All that blood Doing its own thing— I am at peace though I find none Each night the sun goes down And I am not where I want to be The leaf remains Tied to its typical tree The goal of La Poeta was to meet all her lovers With a calm expressive gaze, no 144 She would search eyes like battlefields Follow truth like a mushroom into the dank apartments of the world No questions asked— That was her fallacy— To ask questions of everything Save truth itself What it had in store for...