There’s a study in salmon stucco,
the paintings are reproductions
of Picasso’s blue period. Midday casts
Debussy shadows across the grand piano.

            The chartreuse butterfly is gone;
            surgical tapes wax a figure of moon.

I am dancing with a man,
not my husband, in a flood-lit
tunnel. We have separate cars;
his voice, a seashell in my ear.

            The room is lilac. Morphine
            drips at regular intervals.

Dusk. The hilltop is awash with
madder; marguerites appear pink.
A cookie lies uneaten on grass:
there is no trace of Alice.

            Sometimes a child cries,
            a door closes out the sound.

Ducks in the park have multiplied;
their young form off-yellow V’s on
water. The reflected sun in the pond
burns brightly before eclipsing.

Arlene Ang lives in a small town outside Venice, Italy. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Forklift Ohio, 42opus, Mad Hatters’ Review, Nthposition, Painted Bride Quarterly, Pom 2, Rattle and Unpleasant Event Schedule. She was recently awarded The Frogmore Poetry Prize for 2006.

Website: www.leafscape.org/aang