Remember the Colour and It Will Float Again
ghosted, its lines decaying,
It rests in a cove,
confined in a small scrubby wood.
Barely a beach.
To get to it, move back in time, traversing stunted conifers and by
remembering that the sand is rough,
Boards, once oiled, smooth and working as one sheened brilliance,
are individuals now,
Jagged and hostile, they make themselves known and refuse their work.
Back then, Sally’s red and white striped shirt and her glossy black curls, sat opposite and floated
on the bay.
In a closed room, Matisse drafts rest in a distant corner against a wall.
The stories are flat, blurred, abandoned.
Faint lines traverse and whisper the space.
Angular shadows argue.
To find it, remember,
the room was red.
When he could no longer remember how to paint, Matisse left the room, and cut the world into
little pieces of colour, reimagining it so it would float again.
Kathryn Douglas has been teaching undergraduate writing for many years and has just completed her MFA in Poetry at Fairleigh Dickinson University. Up until now, Kathryn’s professional focus has been on teaching literature, rhetoric and composition; hers is a new voice in poetry. She loves to read, write, sing, garden, and hike. She has sung Handel’s Messiah in Carnegie Hall and Verdi’s Requiem in Mechanics Hall Worcester, MA. Crammed with bee balm, zinnias, and sunflowers, her garden has been created to attract as many hummingbirds as possible while it nourishes beans grown from seeds carried on the Trail of Tears. She loves taking photos while hiking with her dog, Fred, and her first poetry and photography exhibit will open this September.
The Ekphrastic Review
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