by Sheila Lanham
EnTrance
sitting alone
a simple Modigliani
woman in a red hat
staring out
of the pyramid
straight-back chair
stars rotating
halo silence
feet stamping
dust quakes
hands shaping the air
into a perfect form
vessel man
pouring prayer
shaking hollow space
leading eyes around
like bats swarming
the temple at night
shivering possession
your sacred entrance
spinning spiral spitfire
lifting off the ground
shooting off the walls
hat in place
angelic face
shoulders simmering
humble flight
of love surrounds
the mystical sounds
your breathing
as you walk
through the door
Your Southern Drawl
no more melodramas
drawn darkly as the curtains,
dismayed sunlight,
shy though abundant,
slumping shadows
more narrow than your legs,
standing at attention
with feet to chandelier,
crystal charm of your toes
embedded in the pink sheets,
a sheltering tent for lovers and posers,
knees knobby as four posters,
sky walking up to the clouds,
waking up to a slur of syllables
and a silver breakfast tray
at your shoulders,
chubby flesh of cherubs with arrows
so mischievous with their fleshy folds,
rosy Boucher ceiling soothsayers,
entangled in a languorous sprawl
looking down at your soles,
a tireless duo that have traversed the world
in search of lips more rouge
and hips more lewd
chairs more plush
and door with a simple sign
that demands a hush,
too limp to move, too strong to run
and too determined to not wallow
in the pastel pastures of a hotel morning,
the city, finally quiet,
after the rain and before November,
while your legs are yawning
and there is nowhere to be
and no one to see at any certain time,
sweet sinful laziness
and your Southern drawl
that you hide from everyone but me
for John Frusciante’s 31 st Birthday
ethereal chant
floating overhead
spinning a sad moan
wailing a shy circle
you feel too much
accept the blame
sing away
baby face
growing rough
hear the spiraling
call of the wild
it ties you up
and comes on again
innocent choir
of your many souls
you submerge
and then reverberate
visions come
visions go
endless deliberate
splatter of love
exploding silently
without a trace
a lyrical chime
a mysterious sight
hypnotic spirit
laid back
yet you fly
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Sheila Lanham is a poet and artist. She was born in Baltimore and has resided in New York City since 1974. She was a close friend of artist Larry Rivers for over 30 years. She has visited Merida six times. In 2008, she formed U.S. Poets in Mexico and brought the program to Merida in 2009 and 2010 with readings held at the Merida English Language Library. USPiM is a non-profit organization that brings established and emerging American and Mexican poets together in Mexico each January. The program offers writing and translation workshops as well as free public readings in an effort to further literary cultural awareness between the U.S. and Mexico. She is currently editing her first documentary film which focuses on the process of translation, featuring poets Alfonso D’Aquino (Morelos) and Forrest Gander (Rhode Island) who participated in a USPiM sponsored translation residency in Coatepec in 2010. USPiM will return to Merida in January 2013, bringing 25+ poets. Sheila is the author of a chapbook, Baltimore Blues &Greens and is included in A Gathering Voices: An Anthologyof Baltimore Poets, Dolphin Moon Press. In the 1980s she co-edited ThePearl, A Baltimore Literary Journal. She loves Merida dearly.
Art by Mel Blossom
The Merida Review 