New Orleans, July 2015
Sheila Arndt Oh! To be a catalogue of color—vermillion and verdigris print smudged on fingertips. Oh! To be a cataloguer of color—a list maker who stamps and takes-- (ashes, ashes, we all fall…)) pressed pulp as lists as lyrics as the means, the production, and the control. Oh! To be a cataloguerre of color. A riot of shades. A revolution of leaves. Paris Green as the thing that brings it all down. I heard they were called "live oak trees"--well, of course! Branches mirror earth dappled castory and celadon, and hold gardens of greeneries. Forked arms shudder against the weight of terra and so reach and drip and pine. I want love and longing which is all the time (it is always already everything all the time). I am reminded: your mascara is longing your lipstick is dripping the ten in your pocket is longing denim strains against skin even the yellow roses (really the yellow roses? Yes!) blooming in the backyard all butter and cream getting to second right off with a honeybee and even in the afterglow the roses have the right idea, all caution and pollen to the wind fluttering and naked. Milwaukee, October 2015 The backyard isn't the Jardin Des Plantes. But it is: artichoke, asparagus, emerald, kelly, feldgrau, malachite, celadon, Persian, and, of course, Paris, to get us almost there and invite Van Gogh to take a break from hanging in the Musee d’Orsay to take a chair already and "Would you like a cup of tea, Vincent? There's a chill in the air and I've got a pot on." I don't know if Vincent would like it here—the light isn't the same, there are no fields... There are fat raspberries and blackberries ready right now (RIGHT NOW!) to swim in pools of cream and spoons of sugar. The first days of fall are a hazy time. The suspended tide of summer, the dreaming it could go on forever —Brian Wilson and Vincent sharing a cup of “wouldn’t it be nice”-- is running out. "Lay stock against what's coming!" The orange and jessamy of the trees isn't enough to shock me-- What sort of magic must I to make to enjoy the day? Instead it is: what blankets and how many and where is the shovel and salt and are there enough canned tomatoes and how will we ration the peaches and will our hearts hold 'til the thaw? |
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About the Author:
Sheila M. Arndt is a writer, researcher, teacher, Ph.D. candidate, and sometimes bartender who currently lives in the Midwest. She is interested in the modern, the postmodern, New Orleans and its making, critical cultural theory, Americana, sunshine, saltwater, canines, garlic, old blues, and new dreams.
Sheila M. Arndt is a writer, researcher, teacher, Ph.D. candidate, and sometimes bartender who currently lives in the Midwest. She is interested in the modern, the postmodern, New Orleans and its making, critical cultural theory, Americana, sunshine, saltwater, canines, garlic, old blues, and new dreams.