She came, she bathed, I asked

(A reworking of a poem I wrote in a time of rooming houses, everyday visions, clawfooted bathtubs, visiting friends, tribal ghosts and protectors and conversations with god on the Dorchester Avenue bus.)

She came, she bathed, I asked,

“Are you and augury of love?
Or love itself?”

At that she laughed,
she made a splash.
Downstairs a door was opened and
in the sudden draft I saw
the legions tramp across her back.
Under glint-eyed standards
each man drew and poised to hack
with brittle spears and swords and axes
flesh made for kisses, not excesses.

Again she laughed as with my hand
I washed the scene away.

She said,

“I cannot tell the future dear,
nor predict it from your fits.
Am I an augury of love?
Or love itself?
Who knows?
Accept the present, dear,
And dear, accept the gift.”

This entry was posted in art, love, lucid dreaming, poetry, stupid war. Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to She came, she bathed, I asked

  1. nanda says:

    Hey You’re back! What a treat!

    I think I remember those days in Dorchester… it’s great to read you again. Let’s talk.


  2. Angelika says:

    Accept the gift /present , dear and learn to trust and love it – there is no other, greater love than being HERE, my dear!


  3. rick mobbs says:

    Something tells me you are right Angelika. Hope life is treating you well in ILM. Call if you get out to NM. Would love to touch base.

    I’m pretty sure you would remember those days Mz Sosa. I’ll never forget you and your beautiful daughter. Skype tomorrow, sometime in the afternoon or evening?


  4. Well, you know how partial I am to this painting! (And to you)!


  5. lisa brantley says:

    Hey Rick,

    Your work has gained so much clarity and compositional complexity. It’s really cool to see the growth. It’s been what 5-6 years since u were in grad school?


  6. Eleanor says:

    Rick, this is just wonderful! All of it. Your painting is magical. Matthew found it first and was starstruck.

    Leaves me all gibbery…

    Come visit! xx E


  7. rick mobbs says:

    A poem is a kind of trap, at least until I know it’s finished. Every time I revisit this page I add a word or phrase or take one out. If it were a painting I would tell myself I need to have fresh canvasses about, ready to go, ready to call me away from overworking something just because it’s there.

    Lisa, great to hear from you. I guess it’s been 5 or 6 years now. I do miss Paul’s friendship and sage advice. How are you? What’s new? Fill me in please. Ever locate that Textures book? I was wishing I had it just the other week.

    Eleanor, I wish we had more contact with you guys. I love it where we are now but I also miss the East Coast family and friends and landscapes. Thanks for the note. I hope you guys are well and happy. What do you see of the Webster/Brunos?

    The freedom of the painting was directly inspired by watching Broadus at work. If something need seven eyeballs or three sets of jaws he doesn’t question the “rightness” of it, he just gives the image what it’s asking for. I love it.


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