Elegy to Robert Motherwell
Irresistible bulbous black orbs, linked by solid black bands forming a kind of propulsive mothership, collide against a white colonnade, while pockets of tangerine, lime, and grape try not to be obliterated. Rigid bands of Spanish sky and Verna lemon teeter on the edge, uncertain to intervene, more likely to be expelled completely. Leaky engines of malice, the orbs ooze crude oil and snail slime. In the distance, what appear to be amber banners struggle to stay unfurled. What survivors remain bend at the waist as they plod away, hoping to escape the vortex, cradling their young in bare hands.
Alan Humason is a writer in Fort Bragg, CA. He has published short fiction and poetry in such periodicals as Flash: The International Short Story Magazine, Third Wednesday, The Longleaf Pine, The Reed, WORK, and 100wordstory.com. He has a BA in English Literature from UC Santa Barbara and is a past winner of the Grand Prize Phelan Award for writing from San Jose State University.
The Ekphrastic Review
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