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.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Related Poetry

Saint Taciturn

By

Robert Avery

Woodpile

By

Robert Avery

[My brain is like a millstone]

By

Dimitri Psurtsev

Prodigal

By

Richard Jones

Pin It on Pinterest