Limehouse Blues

 

There has to be fog in Limehouse
soft as whispers
trailing grayness
misting storefront windows
where old men sit at tables
still as crickets
when the mating season’s passed.

There have to be mirrors in Limehouse
above unnumbered doorways
so that restless evil spirits
drift unknowing by.

There must be a woman in Limehouse
gazing at a dresser top
where there’s an unlit lamp…
pink shade…red fringe.
She considers implications
of a single fortune cookie
broken…empty…flavorless
upon a thin white saucer.

 

Bonnie Marshall

Artwork by Richard Diebenkorn

In the Weeds

Great Piece of Turf
Albrecht Durer, 1503

In the Weeds

Let your mind slip to his painting
and breathe rank earthiness of bog
to contemplate the chaos
of Durer’s grand anatomy
of a humble clod.
yarrow…hound’s tongue…
heath rush…pimpernel…

Note the absence of earthworms
of beetles or of bees,
for this exclusion is perplexing
from a detail-loving master,
though perhaps it was on purpose.
germander speedwell…dandelion…
creeping bent…burnet saxifrage…

Roots knocked of mud
beneath this plant profusion
he exposed for closer viewing,
though perhaps it was on purpose
for our understanding
of nature’s worth and balance,
or…interrelation of our own humanity.
greater plantain…cock’s foot…
smooth meadow grass…daisy…

Bonnie Marshall