Catalouge of Skin

“ For wasn’t the point that stories, like love,
are spelled out on the skin against loss?” Jane Hirshfield from, “Against Loss”

you give me two hours driving time in a snowstorm.
you give me street signs covered in snow and angst that I’m not at the right house.

you give me black coffee and fireglow.

you give me conversation on a tree-shaded plaza in Taos, the primal rock-walled shower in Twin Lakes, pure honey in Alamosa.

you give me Buena Vista and secrets too painful to reveal.

you give me burnt broccoli soup, then you take it away but you still give me supper. you give me grief for using the word supper.
you give me green jell-o salad at thanksgiving.

you give me place at your table.

you give me scolding on hikes for not watching where my feet are going.

you give me laughter when you slip and fall on your ass.
you give me gallantry in giving you a warm wrap sitting on that boulder watching the sunset. You give me letting you take back the east side.

you give me white quartz, silver heart, the man in the moon.
you give me comet sparkle. you give me the blue star of Santa Fe.

you give me names of trees, sweet wild honeysuckle,
and they give me knowledge beyond wilding dreams

you give me lust in proper context, then you give me proper Spanish pronunciations.
you give me “Paloma de mi corazon”.

you give me hand-made gifts. You give me so many questions.
you give me neckline’s feather whispers and smoothing breast’s puddle in warm palm.
“You give me you.”

you give me trying the spinning wheel, then give me patience, while in true manly form I try to make it go as fast as it can completely bunching up the wool.

you give me the field in which to stand in awe of artistry’s heart.

you give me happiness. you give me sorrow.

you give me relationship and the place to hold it dear.

Catalouge of Skin

kenroome

Concord, United States

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 10

Artist's Description

This closely follows a poem by Rebecca Lindenberg Called Catalogue of Ephemera in her book, “Love, an Index”.
The line "you give me you, is from that poem.

To any speculating on the writers condition, this is a collection of memories and the resulting skin. As in Lindenberg’s poem, I continue the format of the present tense use because it fits the intent to show what remains after memory and time have worked on us. The circumstances of why things become memory differ in the extent of pain involved. Mine is less than the original poet. All the names and occurrences are true but are a composite of experiences taken over time.
This previously appeared as Catalogue of Ephemera, which was deleted then re-worked.

Artwork Comments

  • evon ski
  • kenroome
  • sandra22
  • kenroome
  • mark drago
  • kenroome
  • donna malone
  • kenroome
  • JaneRoberts
  • kenroome
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