We received these lovely poems too late to include in our show, “Nature & Vitality” but we figured we would share them online instead!
To remind you, here are photographs of Myra’s three pieces:
Barbara Varanka wrote the following poems for Myra Abelson’s pieces:
rose
Seeds flying through the park
peak heat in the middle
of summer again
Reclined in this soft bed
I’m looking up to study the light
the blue of the sky
the way the pine needles fan
over my head. My limbs
stretch and bend, lean
and fold. I let the wind
tousle me. My stem
is steady. I love
when you visit me
in the morning, sun
already melting us.
Sweat softens our faces.
You lean in to breathe me.
Our Saturday morning encounter
we repeat each week
like a sacred ritual.
You, the guest, and me,
your temporary host.
peony
Blush-white skirts
rustle in the wings
of a theater. The dancers
wait to go on, and then the light:
blue against a rising curtain,
the springboard floor
conjuring order & chaos
with limbs that raise
like doves. Wings repeat
from holy centers,
each her own blooming
bird among the satin
flock. The best fly as if lost,
pretending to be unaware
of any audience. They’ll never see
how brightly they glow,
how the pastel palette mists
when the young & old girls watching
feel overcome by the gloss,
the way the spotlight strikes
the fabric, the way it radiates
as they fly.
dahlia
I may not be your favorite
but I raise my face to the sun
anyway. The light hits me
and I am pure and white
and intoxicating to bees.
They arrive at my face
for the miracle of honey.
In my center I keep
the powder they need. I belong
to flocks of wildness on Mexican hills.
My name is native.
You would pluck me
to carry me to your love, bee
still buzzing inside. I expire
in a gesture. The magic
of my long, slender fingers
a now withering fringe.
The height of my youth
suspended for a moment.
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