Grand-Mère en Ciel

after ‘Young Girl in Pursuit’ (or ‘Jeune Fille en Marche’) by Marc Chagall, 1927-28

 

The glitter of this memory

is sticky. As I lean moonward,

its pixels thicken into substance,

each rising limb dreamriding until it

finds indigo foothold.

 

Stars silverprickle my back,

brightwiring me

deeper into the firmament.

 

Pearls orbit my neck. I remember:

I was her sun.

 

I pull her in my wake,

barefoot, threshing flames of barley,

and she wings my hair with a fan of lavender,

calming me

in its smoky powder.

 

Her cane curls warm in my hand,

a membrane of soul veiling my palm,

 

propelling me,

a white comet on a black run,

 

to the pinnacle of the glowing space

from where she watches me,

 

so that we can see the light

of each other

across the emptiness,

 

knowing that energy

never dies.