When the Aunties Come, I Am Out the Door, by Rachel Barton

The Old Maids, by Leonora Carrington (Mexico, b. England) 1947

When the Aunties Come, I Am Out the Door
 
after Leonora Carrington’s Old Maids with a nod to T. S. Eliot 
 
In the yellow fog of a great green room women 
come and go talking of Michelangelo and magic,
while the magpies feast on nutcake and seeds
and the capuchin traces the table’s edge,
hoping for pie
 
which the tallest auntie carries into the room,
her coif nearly touching the ceiling. In fact, they are all
tall except for the one in chronic pain, a halo of needles 
piercing her head and neck; the “transcendent one” 
holds the center with a face bright as the sun, her cup 
in hand, her black cloak covering all but her pointy toes.
 
The other three sisters sip their tea
beneath odd-shaped hats towering high.
See the beehive-with-brim, the four-layered “trifle”, 
the hat like a lampshade. Only the pie sister 
hatless, hair loose.
 
A white bird perches near the brazier, on the arm 
of an asymmetrical chair with legs possibly animate.
Teapot and honey set aside, the old maids have an agenda-
which does not concern me-- clearly not of this world.
When the aunties come, table laid before the evening is spread 
out against the sky, I am out the door, the cat not far behind.

Rachel Barton
 
Rachel Barton is a poet and editor whose most recent publications were in The Hare’s Paw, Cirque, and Main Street Rag. Her recent collection, Jacob’s Ladder, and her previous, This is the Lightness, are available through her website. She lives in the land of the Kalapuya and fills her freezer with blueberries from her front yard. See rachelbartonwriter.com for more information.