Deauville, Le Paddock This house, pink stucco, could be made of meringue, a confection beaten out of egg white and light. If I bit into it, sugar would melt on my tongue. Sunlight drops like coins through the leaves of the plane trees; a short lick of black defines every shadow. Behind it, sky meets sea, rises, a field of cobalt. I imagine our hearts to be pink as this house, moving blood through delicate machinery, red on one side, blue on the other. There’s a riderless horse in one corner of the picture, you’ve just alighted and are looking into my eyes as if nothing in the world was as important as what I might say next. I want to paint your body with the pink sable of my tongue. I want to memorize your skin. I want this blue afternoon to never end. Barbara Crooker This poem was previously published in Barbara Crooker's book, Gold (Poiema Poetry). Barbara Crooker is the author of nine books of poetry; Les Fauves is the most recent. Her work has appeared in many anthologies, including The Bedford Introduction to Literature, Commonwealth: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania, The Poetry of Presence and Nasty Women: An Unapologetic Anthology of Subversive Verse. www.barbaracrooker.com
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The Ekphrastic Review
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July 2025
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