WEBVTT

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The next three poems are
going to be about paintings

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one way or another.

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The first one is called
An Artist Draws a Peach.

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It's sort more of a
fictional painting.

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The other ones are real
paintings by people with names,

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and they hang in
particular places.

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But this one is sort
of a made up one.

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An Artist Draws a Peach.

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She wanted to depict
man and woman,

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so she started with a snake.

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It was green and
flat as a ribbon.

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It wasn't right.

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There was no curve for a belly,
no green under the green.

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Even the huge apple had no
far side to its red moon.

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She was alone.

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She was willing to wait.

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Then she saw the peach.

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It held out its peach color.

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She drew it, drew
it out of her body.

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It was the color of the
secret places of her body.

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Was anyone else peach
colored and bulging

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with another surface?

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She incised the peach
with a hairline stroke.

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Its pink split like a bivalve
in water, like her own buttocks.

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She could breathe deeply again.

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The pink was released.

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It folded its peach smoothly.

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It bent toward its other side.

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The flesh lit a
candle under its skin.

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Now she had teeth.

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Her tongue touched her own body.

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"I was so afraid," she said.

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"But the peach, it was the
first thing I really drew.

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I understood its color.

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As for shape, the
shape was in the color.

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My own body spoke from
its long shyness."

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[APPLAUSE]

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