Menu

Poetry

Wasp, genus hymenopterae
Hymenaeus, the god of weddings

These days we gods
are diminished things,
black winged.

I float
like the infinitesimal
hesitation,

the unheard breath
after I:
“I wasp will.”

“I wasp do.”
I am the sadness
shadowing

the speeches
of fathers:
“Now she’s wasp

elegant, wasp
a woman.”
I’m the one

hovering over
the first course
of figs.

In the old days,
the homage of corsets,
now the callas’

attenuating stems,
the bridesmaids
in blue with white

sashes, the bride
divided by the arm
of the groom

at her waist—
as if she would break
in two.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Related Poetry

Lascaux

By

Graham Hillard

I Used to Light Candles for You

By

Joanna Solfrian

an open window casts blue sunlight upon a white bed, behind it the wooden paneling is split in two colors by the light. a lamp with a green shade hangs over the middle of the bed. on top of the bedframe is a small window that reflects the mirror with the white curtains and the turquoise blue shadow-lit light spilling in.

What Is Offered

By

Margaret Gibson

Savasana

By

David Yezzi

Welcome to Image. 

We curate content just for you. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter ImageUpdate for free.


Pin It on Pinterest