Michael Diehl, Starry Night
Death Dream With Violets
From my dark plinth I watch
scant blooms nod on branches etched
against Maxfield Parrish blue night.
This was how I always saw my end,
perched on an outcropping between myth
and reality. A moment of relative peace—
cicadas break the silence, I study the shape
of my hands, moonlit, and dream of my
impending motherhood. Offshore, seabirds
suspend in an updraft, wings outstretched.
Tear-shaped raindrops. A gravel path
curves down to the breakers. Fluttering
petticoats, beach towels, togas and vestments
snap on a clothesline. A muffled thwack—
a wave smacks a sea stack.
I am pregnant against my will, in need
of a husband, preferably unpetrified.
My lavender toga ruffles against my greenish
thighs. Iridescent starlight glitters.
My snakes don’t stir. I pick a fistful of violets
And recognize Athena’s pride,
her shield, floating just out of reach.
You must be Perseus, I address thin air—
I may as well be talking to myself—
pebbles shift beneath his invisible feet.
Behind his heels, a faint flutter of wings
disturbs my vision. Should I tell him
to go away?
Welcome, I say—
______________
Dale Champlin
Review by Sue Fagalde Lick
“Death Dream with Violets” captures a moment of relative peace in Medusa’s tumultuous life. Time stands still. She studies her hands, picks violets, and listens to the fluttering petticoats and smacking waves. Time stops, even as Perseus is coming to kill her. Lush details—cicadas, sea birds, the snakes that don’t stir—create a feeling of holding one’s breath, even as we know from the glimpse of Athena’s shield and the shifting pebbles that death is on its way. Champlin does a masterful job of taking the reader deep into the dream.
Review by Peter Gordon