Joan and I are one and the same! Obsessed
with curtains that spill like gold. Theatrical silk!
Tangled amber! Syrup trickle! Glitz pulled down
by the summer blitz, storm, golds and folds clinging
to the window frame, heavy with rain! Love comes
to me like this, in the lingering sunlight on cloth,
in the deluge of fabric dripping like candle wax. Once,
I lived in a nook, curtained off in the living room
of some college girls’ sublet, and I was the brightest
I’d ever been. I pulled the beige pleats taut at night,
and hung my laundry from the rod at dawn, soggy
swimsuit, overalls, shimmering scarves.
Collin took my photo there, with the flash on,
and I glowed, I mean really rosy, like the cooling
iron of the electric stovetop. When I say I miss home,
I mean I want thread unspooling at my fingertips
again, I want tight spaces made liminal with the rippling
wind. Jean-Claude and Christo and I are one
in the same. Collin and I are one and the same.
Against a grainy grey sky, I could dissolve
watching the shoe-less boys belay from the bridge
arms full of satin. I want it too, I want it back,
I want the loose weft & weave that gleams, I want
to be gathered, shining and sheer.
with curtains that spill like gold. Theatrical silk!
Tangled amber! Syrup trickle! Glitz pulled down
by the summer blitz, storm, golds and folds clinging
to the window frame, heavy with rain! Love comes
to me like this, in the lingering sunlight on cloth,
in the deluge of fabric dripping like candle wax. Once,
I lived in a nook, curtained off in the living room
of some college girls’ sublet, and I was the brightest
I’d ever been. I pulled the beige pleats taut at night,
and hung my laundry from the rod at dawn, soggy
swimsuit, overalls, shimmering scarves.
Collin took my photo there, with the flash on,
and I glowed, I mean really rosy, like the cooling
iron of the electric stovetop. When I say I miss home,
I mean I want thread unspooling at my fingertips
again, I want tight spaces made liminal with the rippling
wind. Jean-Claude and Christo and I are one
in the same. Collin and I are one and the same.
Against a grainy grey sky, I could dissolve
watching the shoe-less boys belay from the bridge
arms full of satin. I want it too, I want it back,
I want the loose weft & weave that gleams, I want
to be gathered, shining and sheer.
Emma Fuchs (rhymes with books) is a poet, printmaker and aspiring filmmaker. Emma has many homes but she currently lives in Lille, France and dreams of endless summer. She is a poetry reader for TriQuarterly. Her work is forthcoming/found in Violet, Indigo, Blue, Etc., Figure 1 and Public Parking.