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2014

 

 

On Marrying A Polish Woman

QU Montage

By Shannon Delahanty

Upon watching the flaming clay
Melt and bubble in the tarnished tin can 
The hot blue-flame, disfiguring
the carefully crafted faces 
He gazed, defeated

She had laughed at his work! 
What he had spent many years on
Creating and manipulating 
The red-clay with his cracked hands 

He had made the First Man 
Eyes a-blaze with blissful ignorance 

His modeled man stood erect, 
Strong and firm 
His chest: bare and defined 
By the articulate impression of the clay 
And there, resting at his feet, was a Woman
    Born from his rib
Her arms clinging tightly around his shapely calves
Her eyes looking up at him, 
As a dog looks to her owner

She was like a little marionette 
He was as big as a God 
They both melted away together in the tarnished tin can     

He stared vacantly at his work
Lost 
Watching the sizzling clay steam
His thoughts were of the snake and the tree
and the bitten pomegranate 

She had asked him during dinner that night,
While he was cutting away his
Lamb from the bone
If he had finished his pottery

“I light it on fire”

She sipped loudly at her wine
And buttered her bread