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Ship's Prow Is the Cubist Slate They Call a Face.

Ship's Prow Is the
Cubist Slate They
Call a Face

   Sopped in chrysanthemum, she bows in, singing
   stanzas from Atlantic shanties. Gold-leafed,

   plank-walker's wet dream, to see the wood fold slip,
   copper nipples milk green towards the ocean's glass.

   Her scapulae of wing and rope, low sails curtain
   for her encore as she tailgates the grimaced sun.

   No one knows about the shimmy she does at dusk,
   the way she houses blowfish as they lift for curtsies

   at her bust. King crabs collect the dowries of her
   devotees: albatross and porpoise. So slightly

   cracked she bends towards the waistline
   of a milk-dawn, doesn't know East from

   South, her sunken prow regains momentum
   as she sinks to see the prismed coral of a shipwreck.

Robin Richardson is the author of Grunt of the Minotaur, released in fall 2011 by Insomniac Press. She is pursuing her master's of fine arts In poetry at Sarah Lawrence College in New York. Her work has appeared in many Canadian and International journals including CV2, The Puritan, The Cortland Review, Dandelion Magazine, the Berkeley Poetry Review and the Westchester Review. She is currently reading In Search of Small Gods by Jim Harrison, Li'l Bastard by David McGimpsey and The Beast that Shouted Love at the Heart of the World by Harlan Ellison.

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Author:Richardson, Robin
Publication:Literary Review of Canada
Article Type:Poem
Date:Jan 1, 2012
Words:216
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