She's a visual artist from the Czech Republic
whose been all over the world: on a snowmobile
in the tundra, stuck two months in a prison
on the Cayman Islands. At age 26 she was lost
on a luxury cruise ship with a sparkly man
she thought was you
and wasn't. She still hates that man.
She's going to tell you stories, so many
stories, and some of them will be true.
Stung by scorpion. Struck by lightning.
Flung from motorcycle. Called to the bar.
Saved. Over and over again, saved.
You clean, I paint is her motto, and she means it.
Just like in the movies you're going to meet her
in a grocery store--you'll both be going for the same papaya--
and it's going to be weird for you because
you've never in your life reached for a papaya--
and it's really just the word you want
it's the word itself that floods you with desire--
and here: a tall blondie with crooked teeth
and scar tissue over her left eye, her one
blue eye, because the other is green as moss.
She's going to laugh and slap your hand
away from the fruit like she's known you for years
and that will be it. You'll know it's her.
She's going to smell like peppercorn and cedar
and have a profound impact on your taste in clothing
(you'll start wearing roses) and brother
listen to me: she can't have children
so she will love yours.
She's going to paint birds and fish
on your body and you'll forget the other one.
You'll be folding for her, you'll be folding
her beautiful, hippie laundry
until the day you die.
That was absolutely captivating. I truly wanted it to keep going. But somehow sad, and I'm not at all certain why.
Lovely