SAY MERVEILLE

                                  for Josephine Baker

and where lime green meets

gun barrel blue c’est

            horizon, thunder, evening waist

where bananas orbit mahogany

hips—no, madrone, peeling

bark like the moon in a phase

or the phrase we search for

to light it: je voudrais,

chérie, honeysuckle

cobbled with vibrating

blossoms—or were they

bees? Discord at the end

of May, dismay sans

la chaleur de nôtre amour

nôtre dame, la mer, ma

mère, nightmare, je voudrais

a ray, disarray, display,

d’accord ? Dis aster, dark

star, je voudrais retrouver

diamond sequins

on your lips: fireflies’

brief blossoms, constellation

seen only at night.

BEL CANTO

           Col pensier il mio desir
            a te sempre volerà,
            e fin l'ultimo mio sospir,
            caro nome, tuo sarà.
                             —Verdi, Rigoletto


The saucer magnolias are heavy lidded col pensier,
too many trills they've heard
each spring il mio desir when April sings
bel canto, while the arcades a te sempre volerà
of Palladio's Basilica in Vicenza keep arching
their backs over what we mean
by God-not Jack-
in-the-pulpit but jack-of-all-
trades, caro nome, who knows
where the sweetbrier grows e fin l'ultimo, how
to talk it up a trellis mio sospir with needle-nose
pliers tuo sarà.
                             According to Raphael via
Castiglione, those that are completely
ruined il mio desir and no longer
visible mio sospir may be understood
by those that still stand fin l'ultimo
and can be seen mio sospir, but who can decipher
forsythia in March, the flagrant
graffiti a te sempre volerà of spring? In Giotto's
(caro nome) "Sacrifice of Joachim,"
the hand of God reaches into the painting
and flies mio desir in lapis lazuli, sky
                                                          tuo sarà
blue breath l'ultimo sospir taken near
the place where stones are mistaken
for sheep when they curl up
il mio desir to sleep. Color, caro nome,
a te sempre volerà, will ever fly to thee, pink
as the peignoir of the woman
hooked over her balcony overlooking
the Marais in Paris singing yes
mio sospir please press
some darkness, mio desir,
in my thoughts tuo sarà rain
constant as the rain
                                a te sempre
volerà: collar, coloratura,
décolletage. Before the end
il mio desir there should be
finale, some ornamental finial to touch
fin l'ultimo what's not: across the field
a flock of geese il mio desir lifts
like the skirt of Marilyn Monroe's dress
a te sempre volerà or the sheet
we unfurl mio sospir while making
the bed saying caro, come name
some darkness.

AFTER MOZART

                                —to be sung to “Voi che sapete,” Le Nozze di Figaro

Voice, okay, pet me;
okay—closer—and, oh, more.
Dinner at eight is great with me—
solo, d’accord?
Parochial paroles,
vino rococo,
a pear carefully chosen
can appease me so.
Send tuned affection,
a pendant brassiere,
a chorus of stilettos
chanting my dear!
Take the perfect pitch
of the alma mater of God
and aim it a moment
toward my jugular.
Research how many
fjords envy me
not just my so-called kiltie,
no, also my squeeze.
So spear an “h” or more,
send some vowels here,
pals who will train
to sense us appear;
now try voice-over—
note the nadir:
my purrs, my meek piazzas,
lie here, cozy.
So voice, okay, pet me;
okay—closer—and, oh, more.
Don’t say you’ll ever leave me
alone with l’amour;
just say you’ll always date me
solo, d’accord?                                                                                               

ANGIE ESTES' most recent collection, Voice-Over, won the FIELD Poetry Prize and is forthcoming in spring of 2002. Voice-Over was also awarded the 2001 Alice Fay di Castagnola Prize from the Poetry Society of America. She is currently a visiting professor at The Ohio State University.  Poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in The Paris Review, Ploughshares, TriQuarterly, FIELD, Pleiades, Slate, Shenandoah, and Chelsea.

Read Angie Estes' "Cell 7: The The Mocking of Christ" in Slate.

              

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