true: death cap rises
after rain in the forest,
pits trap and vipers coil.
So Mondrian decrees
no fellow feeling beyond
geometry, admonishes
“contours of nature
should be tightened.”
What is the tree to Mondrian?
Why does he so despise
the natural world,
deny the red plum growing
outside his window, deride
the willow groves,
close eyes to all that’s wild?
“A drop of sperm spilt
is a masterpiece lost,”
his gorgeously demented theory.
His art a box built to withstand
tough handling, unlike
the flame-red, blood-red rose.
Clear nights the earth’s
a flute of wine,
a near grave waiting
while his Flowering Apple Tree
churns like terrible fish
riled in jacklight.
Image Flowering Apple Tree, by Piet Mondrian, public domain, courtesy es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archivo:Blossoming_apple_tree,_by_Piet_Mondriaan.jpg
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 1.
Carmen Germain is the author of These Things I Will Take with Me (Cherry Grove). Recent work has appeared in Poet lore, The Comstock Review, and The Naugatuck Review. She lives in Washington state and northern British Columbia.
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