THE MUSEUM ISSUE
Marcela Sulak
Rubens' House
Rubens slept in a wooden cabinet,
as did Van Dyck, as did Van Gogh,
on a mattress too short for his full length,
his head and shoulders propped with cushions.
And should the angel of death approach
his couch at night,
..................................he could
present her
with a plum or fig, translucent fruit,
glowing from beneath his head, plucked
from his garden, or some sweet herbs
from a labyrinth of scent. In his garden,
his grape arbor, his lush lawn,
his house of stone,
....................................he
could count up
all he had. He could put flesh on a model,
give her lavish furs and robes;
he could fill her mouth with fruit;
he could ring
.........................her arms with
bands,
her waist with golden coils;
he could circle her himself,
then count all that he had.
He lacked nothing
..................................he would
find;
he lacked nothing that he had.
If the gleam of an exotic eye
was like a grape that taunted him
from its curling, draping vines,
he could hold it on his brush,
stroke it onto canvas
.......................................to
contemplate
it at his leisure with a glass of wine.
If its essence slipped away,
he could hold it in his teeth
with the oysters on his plate until
they gleamed, dainty with happiness.
Marcela Sulak's chapbook is called
Of All The Things That Don’t Exist, I Love You Best (Finishing
Line Press). She has translated three books of poetry from the Czech
Republic and Congo-Zaire. Her poems have most recently appeared in The
Indiana Review, Third Coast, River Styx, Quarterly
West, and The Notre Dame Review. She is an Assistant Professor
of Literature at The American University.
Published in Volume
10, Number 1, Winter 2009.