Painting by Jacopo Tintoretto
E MAIL TO DAMNISO LOPEZ 126
A white hand, immaculately white, spotless,
White as a sheet of white cardboard, intruded.
The white hand did not knock or push
The bell on my skull’s door, but walked
Right through the bone, as Tintoretto’s painted
Angels at San Rocco fly through the wood wall.
The white was wearing white gloves, took off
The gloves. I saw on its wedding ring finger
Where a wedding ring would be worn
A band of dark skin, the dark skin marring
The whiteness. The darkness was a dark purple.
The white hand with a band of the darkest purple
In the place where a wedding ring is worn
Sits on a blood vessel in my brain,
Talks about how we must construct
A new conception of what is called “ The Real.”
Duane Locke
Posted over on Yellow Mama Archives
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