Idol & The lost planet
by Patrick Chapman
[ poetry - august 06 ]
Idol
From the air they had seen powerboats and yachts,
Wakes dividing between them the harbour at Nice,
Drawing up the blueprints of a submerged labyrinth.
Tanned behind sun block, she perched on the prow
Of their holiday boat while astern, her companion
Daydreamed of a mountain man he’d seen:
Rugged, weighed down by a tray of tomatoes.
Soon, they arrived at Antibes, disembarking unsure
Of surroundings or footing: amphibians new to dry land.
Later, she mislaid him in the statue garden
Of the Musée Picasso. By the giant, ruined head
Of an ancient goddess, he broke down.
Beneath the dead face of a mantis by Reynolds,
She turned on her heel; she ran for the door,
Knowing that he must attempt to catch up.
The lost planet
In the blue room, he saw his
wife.
She sat up in the bed and drew
The sheet around her shoulders.
Her elbows were spiked like breast plates.
In the white room, he saw himself,
Asking her if everything
That came before this moment
Was scripted to lead up to it –
And all that happened afterwards,
Designed to lead him away.
In the red room, he saw his wife.
With kindness, she reached out to him.
She took his forehead in her hands.
She kissed it, told him not to fret.
She guided him inside herself.
She felt connectedness.
In the black room, he saw himself.
Momentum loosed a fleet of probes
That slipped their launching tower
And set out to reclaim for her
A planet lost to him once found.
But each contraction struck him
With a flashback to the future:
He evolves into the pupal stage
Of woman-baby butterfly.
