A n n e W a l d m a n : K e e p i n g T h e W o r l d S a f e F o r P o e t r y
N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 5 : S p e c i a l E d i t i o n
DENYSE DU ROI ANGER
The Letter A
For the lady, a fine black cloth & miniver
for furring the chaperons. I wanted to write a poem
to a person who has many aliases. In velvet
hood, a floor show, or according to her pleasure
inspecting grapes in the Verdanges tapestry.*
When she is she, she hangs back & decorates eyes,
for peace. Or she is he predicting locust migrations,
no less than her trail well-manned. Earning accolades,
she, he would take you in cathedrals dressed for ransom
until the stones sermon, histories of holidays
bound gagged, opting for any homage to the sun.
Mouthful of feathers & pumpkin seeds
formerly detained in the blood.
Early April, eclipsed in history, microcosm of Lascaux.
Rain metrics choruses resigned to eat heart
where beasts & birds caw & pule inside elaborate borders.
There is the letter A recurrent in Anne's book of hours
or skillfully sewn onto sky, while here the unicorn,
indistinguishable from candlelight, outwits the chateau
of Verteuil. Auburn brocade reflects manifold spring
like a jewel as the gist of prankish April dawns.
I'm turning death by the apple of her white red weave
through no absence of mirth, simultaneous skits by
a waterfall, where flaunting her lining, one glimpses
the Annunciation. The baby has eaten a calla lily!
A palatable green embodies the four noble truths
as well as those original skies. Love in a museum?
To me the beast on the banner
looks more like a shaggy lion than a porcupine.