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Papa ...

Why build your walls so thick?
          Did you fear the world would tumble in on you -
               Find you as vulnerable and discomposed as the rest of us?
     I think your TRUE battles - your wars - took place within

An Id so ambiguous and at odds with itself
          That you drowned it in substance and sin and mortality
               The edge of a knife too jagged for shrewd application
     Visceral impulse, your fine compass

Those paths and bearings felt the prow of your words
          Perchance the movable feast was NOT Paris
               But rather the light in you - Paris as you lived it, in the rain
     You and she, shining, in tremulous unison

Tapping keys with the lethality of your favorite rifle
          The point of your pen invasive as any needle, poisoned
               Ravaged and gored by the demons of night
     Yet passed untouched by the bulls of Pamplona

Your world was raw on the half-shell
          You, with Tabasco and a paring knife
               Beauty found in muddy fields and mustard gas
     As deep and compelling as a Caribbean sunrise

More taken by the grainy texture of a pear on your palate
          Than by all the gods of humankind
               And THAT, that easy allure -
     That sublime simplicity ...

Is why ... I love you.





Written and submitted on November 24, 2019
For the "Your Favorite Artist" Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke, Sponsor.

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