Dissolution (Or, Landscape With Martyr)

By JAYDN DEWALD

 

Afterward, he watched her lumber out of the coliseum

Swinging the severed head of his panther—

 

All that talk about Madrid and his old Segovia albums

And look what good it did them. Outside,

 

In the pomegranate dusk, she flung the panther’s head

Into the sidecar of her sepia ’57 Triumph

 

And roared, her orange hair flapping, into the distance.

Remember the mirror over their pine bed

 

In Ohio, loving her double nakedness night after night

With the snow falling? His mind escaped

 

Into that fragrant, still-warm profusion of white sheets

And denied (kissing her ears) the present

 

Wherein he stood at the ironwork gate of the coliseum

Watching her panther’s tail of black dust

 

Settle over the stone field. (Touching her arched spine,

Listening to the fizzle of the phonograph

 

In the static winter dark.) Later, restored to the present,

He would lug his headless cat to a furrier

 

And make of it a coat, luxurious, with abalone buttons;

In the meantime, he alternated his mouth

 

Between one tamarind nipple and the other, expecting

A little talk, afterward, about the beaches

 

Outside Valencia. Ribbons of spume in the lapis water,

Clam boats pitching in the diamond light—

 

Then he watched, in real time again, her Triumph melt

Into the mercurial horizon. It was crucial,

 

He felt, to attend the final scene. Raising his right arm,

He told the spectators to go home. Listen

 

To Segovia. Eat dinner. Keep your roses to yourselves.

 

Jaydn DeWald’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Beloit Poetry Journal, Columbia Poetry Review, The Minnesota Review, The National Poetry Review, Poet Lore, and others.

 

Listen to Jaydn DeWald and Zeina Hashem Beck discuss “Dissolution (Or, Landscape With Martyr) on our Contributors in Conversation podcast.

 

[Click here to purchase your copy of Issue 07]

Dissolution (Or, Landscape With Martyr)

Related Posts

Image of a sunflower head

Translation: to and back

HALYNA KRUK
hand-picked grains they are, without any defect, / as once we were, poised, full of love // in the face of death, I am saying to you: / love me as if there will never be enough light / for us to find each other in this world // love me as long as we believe / that death turns a blind eye to us.

many empty bottles

June 2024 Poetry Feature: New Poems by Our Contributors

KATE GASKIN
We were at a long table, candles flickering in the breeze, / outside on the deck that overlooks the bay, which was black / and tinseled where moonlight fell on the wrinkled silk / of reflected stars shivering with the water.

Messy desk in an office

May 2024 Poetry Feature: Pissed-Off Ars Poetica Sonnet Crown

REBECCA FOUST
Fuck you, if I want to put a bomb in my poem / I’ll put a bomb there, & in the first line. / Granted, I might want a nice reverse neutron bomb / that kills only buildings while sparing our genome / but—unglue the whole status-quo thing, / the canon can-or-can’t do?