Face Off
I used to steal flowers. And once a painting. The Duke and Duchess of Urbino. Ruling all the earth. With the pallor of death. Ghosts to be revered. Of triumph in battle and prancing unicorns. Chastity and fidelity. Grave as Dictators on Remembrance Day. Piero della Francesca gave me hell. Left it in a taxi. Outside the Uffizi. With your white gloves. And the talcum powder. The key was in my pocket to the monastery cell. I had left a single sunflower in the mayonnaise jar. Filled with well water. It was naturally cool in the courtyard. Silence of the Nun’s robes. On skin that had not seen sunlight. By chance we found soothing waves. Just the right note to trigger my devotion. I’m hungry and we need to go you said. Dapple the tongue in fine red wine. A small glass. Green with no stem. Is this what they call al dente you twirled. The pasta faultless. No blemishes on the blazing white shirt. Arms in long tubes. Should I honour only your achievements you sharply cut that smile. A breath settled on the seeds. Waiting for flight. Tossed by the uprooting roar of lost voices. Lusting to satisfy cravings. When the land bloomed I was not the thief. We all took what we needed and no more.
©nicholas catlin
