Deep Red Rose Bruise, by Robert Miner

Untitled (Say Goodbye Catullus, to the Shores of Asia Minor), by Cy Twombly (USA) 1994. Photo by Keith Ewing (CC BY-NC 2.0)

Deep Red Rose Bruise
    
I. The Cy Twombly Gallery
Let me whisper something true to you -
in your grief, do not turn to art 
for comfort or solace or distraction
there is only reflected pain
a sharp knife to pick at a wound
sandpaper for any forming scab.

II. Say Goodbye, Catallus, to the Shores of Asia Minor
Three panels taking up an entire wall
a navigation map of emotion
With unexplored areas left white
bits of poems scrawled like warnings 
for the explorers who follow
rough sketches mapping the edges of newly found tropics –
the Tropic of Melancholy, the Tropic of Loss –
bursts of colors looking like they exploded 
from inside the painting through the skin of its surface
marks for the distant shore where a brother fell
the spot where word came of a faraway death
and a sea of grief in between.

It is the story of Catallus, poet and soldier,
crossing the known world to stand at his brother’s grave,
bringing gifts to the dead, “silent ashes.”
Or is it more Twombly’s own crossing
painted over 22 years
not knowing his destination when he set forth 
no gifts in hand
no signpost to tell him he had arrived.

The painting is a journey, that’s clear, but
does time flow from left to right or right to left
I sit on the bench across the room and
decide it must be entered, pierced, not followed
and by piercing it, it pierces me, releasing 
the grief held tightly inside me/the painting

lll Untitled (the blackboard paintings)
Smudged white markings on black-painted canvas
Lines like the short sharp breaths that make up a life
layered so deeply they can no longer be erased
no way to undo, to start over, 
to take a deep hopeful breath
 standing before a Monday morning chalk board.

III Analysis of the Rose as Sentimental Despair
Panels like so many 
deep red rose bruises 
blood from broken veins pooling under pale skin
witnesses to blows -
unexpected or warded off or self-inflicted

IV
Utterly shaken, unable to take any more, 
I leave with tears in my eyes,
the security guards watching with concern and not a little alarm.

Robert Miner

​Robert Miner is a veteran political and corporate consultant who now works in government affairs for the energy industry. His poems previously have been published in The Dewdrop and Tanka Journal.