Seeing Mountains

photo: sharon auberle

by M.J. Iuppa

Seeing Mountains

in shades of amber, an ecology of ash

& aspens, their expansive reach to a cloud

chasing sky casts a spell  over me . . .

                                              

 I look up into heights I rarely perceive

from a farm whose land was once smoothed

by the press of a glacier’s hand.

                                                      And so, I slide

into the pool of my shadow & sit there quietly

waiting for the windless explosion of monarch

wings or a thousand  leaves  tumbling like loose

coins tossed into autumn’s sunlight to take

 my breath away.

~ first published in Blue Heron Review

This Family Called Apple

detail: apple family II: georgia o'keeffe

This Family Called Apple

by M.J. Iuppa

                            after Georgia O’Keeffe’s painting Apple Family–2

Plumped up and pinched,

rosy-cheeks of a kind,

ample curves, breasts

and buttocks nestled

side by side, silent

picture of health,

not knowing

what could be growing

wrong on the inside. When

lost in thought in the orchard

I plucked  their glossy bodies–

let them fall into my canvas

apron– ignoring your warnings–

invisible bruises show up after

the snap of leaf and stem. Now

which will go first?  Taut

skin resists, shines

against the bite

that changed paradise–

sudden waters, flesh, seeds,

unlocked stars– the secrets

of many in this chaste household.

~ first published in Language of Color: Writers Respond to the Paintings of Georgia O’Keeffe (Big Pencil Press)

Well Hidden

artwork: ralph murre

Well Hidden

by M.J.Iuppa

Snooping under ivy, curly

and thick, we disturb

a sparrow’s nest, no bigger

than a measuringcup

full of fidget.

Tiny gray heads tilt

upward with eyes shut

tight– tongues fluttering

like monks in ecstatic

prayer, offering their hearts                                                                                     

to this day that has begun

with us eavesdropping

on their cloistered life–

their sole contemplation.

~ first published in The Victorian Violet Press Journal

Pumpernickel

artwork: vincent van gogh

Pumpernickel

by M.J. Iuppa

If the color yellow runs out

with what will we make bread?

                      ~ Neruda

Without sun’s warm buttery light

spilling onto the kitchen’s table–

without lemons resting side by side

in our mother of pearl bowl–

without candlelight sputtering

surprise– yelp of the yellow dog

lying across the threshold, listening

for slow footsteps returning

to an hour that’s groundless

in its long wait– the clock’s tick

unlocks the world mimicking

other worldliness– when all we wanted

was to break bread. Forgetfulness

sounds like forgiveness when yellow

runs out in the way  fields of winter

wheat sway in question . . .

   

See how dark mahogany rises–

coarse swell of sourdough–

this steaming loaf found

in the hands of strangers.

~ first published in Tar River Poetry.

Traveling alone, she fell . . .

detail: michelangelo

Traveling alone, she fell in the Sistine Chapel –

by M.J. Iuppa

collapsed in a whirl, as if a gust of wind

struck her weak ankle and set her spinning–

her skirt inflated, but she did not rise

to bump her head beneath God’s fingertip,

nor did she push Adam aside.

Instead, she leaned into descent

like a scarf tossed in a dance,

and onto the marble floor

she puddled, still looking up . . .

A crowd gathered; then men

carrying a canvas litter

arrived with a knock

on floor:

              Avanti, she whispered,

and they lifted her up to their shoulders–

a marvelous blur moved beneath her–

and before her: God’s plan.

~ first published in the Bryant Literary Review