Marianne Szlyk

A Tender Spell

After the painting of the same name by Maia Cruz Palileo

In this world, the sky shimmers.
Day-glo leaves dance like solar flares.
Tight, red flowers sizzle and burn.

Yet, on this humid night, two birds,
a mated pair, are tender.
We don’t know which is male,

which female. But they glance with love,
bond for life on the equator,
each night, cool or warm, the same length.

Breezes refresh. Bugs drift above.
They do not land despite the scent
of yesterday’s flowers and fruit.

The mated pair gaze at each other.
One brings a glimmering fish to share
this night when sky wraps around them

like wings.

 

From the Roof You Can See Forever

His voice sounds like a swallow
of pure lemon juice, no sugar.
You choke as it goes down
and the studio orchestra swells.
Acid waves creep onto cold sand
as the garden dissolves in rain.

You try to remember if this 
is Lennon’s voice, long silenced.
You wonder how he would sound
as an old man, bent, bald, blind,
his son long grown.  Still smoking,
he’d be a remnant of the old
city on the new island of
purified air, ringtones, vapes,
iced coffee infused with nitrogen.

Men like him live in fifth floor
walkups, crowded with hardback books,
vinyl records, cigarette butts, coffee cups.
Halting, they climb to the roof,
awaiting what the city will become
once the asphalt-colored rivers rise
and the island dissolves in rain.


Originally published in Ppigpenn

 

 

Remembering Dinner at Larry’s Restaurant

I’ve never dreamed about
meals I ate at Larry’s,
dim walls steeped in soy sauce
and ginger, the same light
each winter and summer,
no music, no talk, just slurp
of hot and sour soup, tap
of chopsticks on thick plates.
I was the only one
who used a fork, who strayed
outside the sciences’
precise light, the only
white woman in the room.

Often I ate Mapo
Tofu there.  White cubes stood
waist-deep in umber sauce,
hint of ginger, hint of
anise, no taint of sweet,
not deep-fried like tofu
served to white ghosts.

Often I drank bitter
black tea.  I filled my cup,
a thimble, once again
while I clung to my seat,
still waiting for the man
I liked to join me there,
his rapid talk breaking
the dim restaurant’s spell.


Originally published in Poetry in Plein Air as “Dinner at Larry’s Restaurant, Cambridge, MA.”