Artemisia Was Absent

 

 

 

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....