Note from the Editors

 

   SEEING RED 

    ENDU(RED) ADMI(RED)
    DESI(RED) WONDE(RED)
    RUMO(RED) ADO(RED)
    ENAMO(RED) INSPI(RED)
    DISCOVE(RED) SAC(RED)
    HUNGE(RED) WONDE(RED)
    EXPLO(RED) FEATU(RED)
    AUTHO(RED) SEA(RED)
    DA(RED) UNCENSO(RED)
    SOA(RED) ADVENTU(RED)

 

 

    


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The Japanese Bridge at Giverny, 1918-24

              
for Monet

Unstable arch connecting
          lan
d to land, 
appears to be a fallen log 

 across the pond.  No longer
         
distinct green rails
to hold onto. Now 

a constant fog covering 
         
your beloved
garden, pond, yet you

continued to layer paint
         
on this canvas—
colors you said had lost

intensity—muddy red,
          
insipid pink.
There are those

who attempt to recreate
         
how you saw
wisteria, bridge, pond,

the water lilies
         
you never gave up on
becoming bolder, more abstract,

closing and opening  
        
with the light, but 
they can never be certain

of your intention. It’s been said
         
you could paint a haystack
like a cathedral, and a cathedral

like a haystack.
         
What we know is
you said No flowers

at my funeral, 
          a
sacrilege to plunder
the garden for such occasion.

The casket decorated
         
with a sheaf of wheat.
You always sensed

how one season
         
blended slowly
into another, first

the heat, then
          
the chill, and only
rain could drive you in.


Gail Peck is the author of two full-length collections and three chapbooks, most recently From Terezin.  Her poems and essays have been published in numerous journals including The Southern Review, Greensboro Review, Nimrod, Cimarron Review, Mississippi Review, Rattle, Cave Wall, and Brevity, and her work has been widely anthologized.  Her collection Counting the Lost came out this fall from Main Street Rag.


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