When I
burned bitter dreams
Held by
a flat silver spoon upon a cup where
Pain
was washed down with cold water
As if dead
carp in the river
Next to
the catacombs of a city that has forgotten
How
evil turns to anger
Artemisia was absent but
I still called her name
Artemisia was now just a
name
Which
I once wrote on the sand
Of a city burning
Without a silver spoon
And without knowing why
I wrote on the sand
Of its beaches washed
By the times
By the tides
By unmoon nights
As I left the land that
became
Someone else's land
Next to the bluest sea
Where Artemis lost her
arrow
And her chastity
Under the half moon
And turned green
Like a fairy who lost
her way
In the catacombs of a
city
Next to a dark river
Where the beach was of
concrete
And the name I had
written
Was washed
In cold water
Over a flat silver spoon
Into a simple cup
That was now bitter
Because Artemisia was
absent
April 19, 2021
© Vahé A. Kazandjian,
2021
About this poem: Artemisia absinthium is the common wormwood historically used to make absinthe. I was inspired by a visit to the catacombs of Prague where absinthe, made with wormwood, is available for experimenting.
As such, this is not a poem about the 17th century Italian painter Artemisia Gentileschi....
