A Nun Joins the Nouveau Order
Belvedere Palace Tour, 1909
Klimt, Viennese thief of shiny armour, ripped the Bayeux Tapestry from its castle wall, hauled it to his bedroom floor, then plucked medieval Mary from her perch, unpinned her angel wings, drew her to his knightly lips. Klimt, alchemist, chef d’amour, melted down our golden mean for his own delight, scummed its dross, brushed her closed eyes, his open lips.
I should condemn this profane Eden, scorn Klimt’s carnal eye, but I can’t see how to do it. The artist covers his tracks too well. Both subjects are fully sheathed, their kiss—hardly worthy of the title—more temple peck than original sin.
And yet, in the couple’s mingling cloaks, a mystery play; in the murmuration of his chainmail and her chemise, holy communion. Mysterium fascinans. The temptation to join them, to become conjoined, overwhelms me—as it had once before—and I rush forward with the other worshippers, our flock angling, arrowing to pierce the picture plane.
Maureen Kingston’s poems and prose have appeared or are forthcoming in Blue Earth Review, B O D Y, Gargoyle, Hermeneutic Chaos Literary Journal, Maudlin House, Misfitmagazine.net, Modern Poetry Quarterly Review, Red Paint Hill, So to Speak, Stoneboat, and Terrain.org. A few of her poems and prose pieces have also been nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart awards.
9/28/2016 06:59:57 pm
I enjoy the nun's perspective in this piece. She is part art critic, part sexual voyeur. Well written.
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