CUBIST'S NUDE, RECLINED
On the lounging chair
unfolds a story of hip bones
bowed and arrowed:
one to the sky,
as if it were unroofed,
one to the belly of the chair.
The chair creaks and whines.
Outside rests a dried canoe.
The studio lies
tight lipped on its chartreuse bank.
A red and orange sunset
smears its lipstick on the doors
and on the windows;
tied up shadows sigh
beneath the curtain cords.
On the easel there are limbs
like guitar strings,
a face like shapes of math.
The blacked out moon
sleeps inside a tree.
The artist's brush sharpens
its angles on the subject,
lays the disrobed branches
blue and green. Each stroke
refracts the story of her body.
C.J. Sage
