Interior Design
In Lascaux, ancient Paleolithic people,
huddling in caves, painted animals—
mammoths, deer, lions, bison—on walls.
Romans got a whole lot better at frescoes,
lounging on couches gilded silver, drinking red wine,
eating grapes, surrounded by vignettes of
couples fornicating in gardens. Me? I paint these walls
with loneliness. A thin veneer of human want.
I can’t afford warm minimalism, maximalist chic,
sculptural lighting, tiled brick, or bold hues
so I work with what I know. A little imagination.
Thin red velvet panels of blood and doubts mortared
to darkness. A tiny projector plays in a corner
of the room where its always childhood,
its always Spring, making me believe
there is a world outside this room I find
myself in, day in, day out, without a proper door
or portholes other than my two eyes,
without serpentine sofas, or Wiggle chairs
designed by Frank Gehry, so I must
stand in one spot, slowly chipping away
at a block of rare onyx, one that might one day
reveal my soul, each riven piece or shard
whittling silence into noise, clouds into rain,
dust into spirit, and in the not too distant future
thoughts and dreams and exuberance into
a worthy magnificent death.
Chris Banks is an award-winning, Pushcart-nominated Canadian poet and author of seven collections of poems, most recently Alternator with Nightwood Editions (Fall 2023). His first full-length collection, Bonfires, was awarded the Jack Chalmers Award for poetry by the Canadian Authors’ Association in 2004. His poetry has appeared in The New Quarterly, Arc Magazine, The Antigonish Review, Event, The Malahat Review, The Walrus, American Poetry Journal, The Glacier, Best American Poetry (blog), Prism International, among other publications. He lives with dual disorders–chronic major depression and generalized anxiety disorder–and writes in Kitchener, Ontario.
No comments:
Post a Comment