It Was a Secret
by Steven McCabe
Giotto painted the stars bleeding out his fingertips.
Caroline Coon did a painting of Christine Keeler
As did Pauline Boty.
I fell into the world without a shaman
Somewhere the world is not yet what it will become.
I rented a tiny apartment next door to the girl in white shorts
whose brother, or maybe step-father, has a hook for a hand.
I wake to the sound of birds.
My mother worked near a famous intersection during the war –
music in the nightclubs vibrated echoes all night long.
Somebody said he remembered her –
in a flat boat gliding through the reeds.
Oak trees cast shadows across divided pools
designed in the curvilinear shapes of a Celtic eagle’s head –
I remember fish in deep water
I didn’t want to fall in –
going home from Eddie’s house.
Eddie spread catsup on white bread and smoothed it with a butter knife.
The architect said it was a secret.
Seductive… love the juxtapositions.
“spread catsup on white bread with a butter knife”–ooooh
Thank you Elana!
Very nice posts! I’ve been noticing little Celtic tidbits creeping into you posts, too. What’s the secret to that…?
Hi Tiege, Thanks for this! It’s an active presence somehow. My interest started a few years ago, investigating and reading on tangential subjects. The forgetting part of my memory seems stronger than the remembering. I read The White Goddess twice to try and keep things straight! 🙂 Spirals entered my ink drawings and investigations of that shape/symbol led to a lot of interesting material, both Celtic and otherwise i.e. Newgrange. At one point I discovered the Three Cauldrons of Poesy. Maybe it’s something long dormant in the dna. Also, on this subject, I very much appreciate the knowledge and perspectives you share in your blog!