From Georgia, a Novel of Georgia O’Keeffe, by Dawn Tripp
Cruel, the moon cuts the night open.
Steep violet with a glint of sage.
Every shadow has shape and substance.
My body blown open by the contours.
The lake a thousand shades of molten blue.
The colors unapologetic, strike each other,
then bleed. The edges of my skin
cannot contain them. This is not
a love story; life is made of lies and magic.
Our pact was common silence.
His letters once food, breath, water—
I’ve turned the page—The past remade
and packed away. The bony reprimand
of a skinflint earth.
There is raw pleasure in holding still.
The vast space rearranges me into myself.
I hear the roar of the infinite—
want to pull it inside me.