A Prose Poem and Two Pantoums After Remedios Varo, by Hedy Habra

Dead Leaves, by Remedios Varo (Mexico, b. Spain) 1956

Or How Could He Ever Win The Heart of Any Woman?
    
She shuffled seasons at will, carpeted her floors with grass and wildflowers, picked the first man who showed her a spark of kindness and carved his heart in her own image. Words danced in vibrant hues over the pages of her diary, giving life to a silhouette hovering in half tones in midst of the grisaille. With an empty stare, she’d sit for hours, see his shadow kneel in front of her, listen to his fading merman’s song.

She’d redress his crossed eyes, bent shoulders and slight limp, or else, how could he ever win the heart of any woman? She thought of Beauty and the Beast, although he was no beast and she was no beauty. Until the day she flung windows wide open, let gusts invade the rooms, let her skin bear the colors of dead leaves, and knew time had come to pull the thread, unravel the feelings spun around his heart.

Hedy Habra

This poem was first published at Gargoyle.

The Souls of the Mountains, by Remedios Varo (Mexico, b. Spain) 1938

Or Did You Ever Wonder What It’s Like To Have Hot Flashes?
           
Imagine a nebulous landscape covered with budding volcanoes 
See yourself emerge from one of its peaks head heavy with slumber
Gasping in the rarefied air you enter a liminal space where unlucky few
Forever trapped past conception are condemned to parthenogenesis 

See yourself emerge from one of its peaks head heavy with slumber
Think of your skin as a primed canvas permeable to imprints
Forever trapped past conception, condemned to parthenogenesis 
See how the change of seasons leaves indelible marks all over your body

Think of your skin as a primed canvas, permeable to imprints, 
You yearn for the sight of a veil billowing on a deserted deck’s caravel 
See how the change of seasons leaves indelible marks all over your body
Like the sfumato created by the passage of a candle over moist paper or canvas 

You yearn for the sight of a veil billowing on a deserted deck’s caravel 
Suddenly a cooling current lassoes drifts unfurling into ashen flames 
Like the sfumato created by the passage of a candle over moist paper or canvas 
Or a haze hiding a palimpsest of thoughts carried by windswept fumes 

Hedy Habra

This poem was first published by Rusted Radishes. ​​

Harmony, by Remedios Varo (Mexico, b. Spain) 1956

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Or Call Me a Hoarder if You Will but Try to Understand
         
Each and every object in my drawers has a story of its own. 
When I revisit the selves I once was, minute black silhouettes 
Align themselves over the power lines of my mind as on a score 
Until the outline of an alter ego irrupts, adding a silent note. 

When I revisit the selves I once was, minute black silhouettes 
Rub over every object's skin absorbing smells and vibrations
Until the outline of an alter ego irrupts, adding a silent note 
And would they engage in a dialogue in the utmost darkness?

Rub over every object's skin absorbing smells and vibrations
Like the rosary stringed with pearls my mom loved so much
And would they engage in a dialogue in the utmost darkness
Map the vestibules of memory, run fingers over shining veins?

Like the rosary stringed with pearls my mom loved so much 
Boxes of left-over yarn, her crocheted creations tucked into drawers 
Map the vestibules of memory, run fingers over shining veins
Call it a bric-a-brac fit for those of us prone to engage in bricolage. 

Boxes of left-over yarn, her crocheted creations tucked into drawers 
A bleached sand dollar that might become your grandson's treasure. 
Call it a bric-a-brac fit for those of us prone to engage in bricolage. 
Nothing is what it seems, only the meaning invested in its arcane language

A bleached sand dollar that might become your grandson's treasure 
And just the sight of a handwriting triggers the deepest emotions
Nothing is what it seems, only the meaning invested in its arcane language. 
I keep digging as I become the archeologist of my own experience

Hedy Habra

This poem was first published by MacQueen's Quinterly.​

Hedy Habra is a poet, artist and essayist. She is the author of three poetry collections from Press 53, most recently, The Taste of the Earth (2019), Winner of the Silver Nautilus Book Award and Honorable Mention for the Eric Hoffer Book Award; Tea in Heliopolis Winner of the Best Book Award and Under Brushstrokes, which was a Finalist for the Best Book Award and the International Book Award. Her story collection, Flying Carpets, won the Arab American Book Award’s Honorable Mention and was Finalist for the Eric Hoffer Award. A seventeen-time nominee for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the net, and recipient of the Nazim Hikmet Award, her multilingual work appears in numerous journals and anthologies. https://www.hedyhabra.com/