Runcible Spoon

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Photo of Mom on the Beach 1950


Picture3 Picture3 Picture3 Kathleen Strafford

If Picasso were here he would paint

the roundness of your breasts refracting

as though half in water       the heat

would rise and blur dizzy views

                                into beautiful angles

He would name his work

                                   A Series of Revolutions in Broken Light


Kerouac     jazzed by your rhinestone shades

would take a piece of summer        igniting

words so inflammably pure

they would spark a syncopated beat


You stare at the glint from the water

                 as the horizon snips and burns hard

It’s the calm of a slower beauty leaving

                the day scattered where noises rearrange

and re-enter the voice of water

                listening you hear your own heart


I find myself leaning toward

dark strands of hair that wind

around your finger   into the inner parts

of your arms    the comfort of your touch.


If you look hard into the sand Mom

you’ll see the imprints of my knees writing

me into this poem    securing my place  near you

If you dig deeper   you will find bloodstained stones

unborn children surrounding you like silent flowers


Your hands belong to naked air & snapdragons

who will need your touch     Soon you will want

an honest garden where you will weep for bruised

flowers       you will feel the absence of the space

they were drinking.


If you had Picasso’s eyes or Kerouac’s tongue

you could keep the diamonds splashing to your feet

But how can you know what your reflection offers

when the earth is content with its own image

and the only news in water?