Girlfriends
Gold
Girlfriend is crust brushed with yolk. Dough after baking. Pliant
in her muffin-muffled skin. Yeasty and growing and thus quite
living. She a humble muffin rolling o'er the plains. Near and far
flung all at once. If you don't bake her she will expand up and out and
so she is both "bake me at once" and "don't fence me
in." She under steam. She expansion. Subtle
aeration. Breathing in a bowl of her own choosing.
Mustard
Girlfriend changes hue to match her nerves. Some days light pink mustard
all bright and there on the sandwich in the salad outside on the picnic table
linens. Other days clouded over. Emotions purpling through
her face. Full flower furling at evening. Love in there deep
set. Not dislodged. Eyes dimming brownward. Inscrutable
shutters.
Pink
Flax Girlfriend is named "being outside all the time."
Her hair is pale baby hair and see-through. Sometimes yellow like hay
straw. Sometimes clear filament. It tinkles like thin glass pieces
tied on string clinka clinking in wind. Pink Flax Girlfriend is really
bunny. She is Watership Down. Her face is white with big pink
pressing through. Her eyes are shallow blue morning.
Green
Girlfriend has changed her color. Before she was Grey Silver Girlfriend
the color of city. Now there's still silver but it's green brown
silver. Like deer fur changing color sometimes mossy sometimes
tawny. Always moving kicking up things. Her coffee has just a
little milk in it, twirling up from the bottom. Green Girlfriend calls
herself "Forest Green" but I don't think she's right. No moss
grows on her stepping stones.
Orange
Girlfriend. And indeed. But not loud look-at-me orange. More,
an orange with a douse of red—to deepen—bring to substance. Orange
Girlfriend is not tiny or tight but of a piece and all filled in. Though
different than (strictly speaking) the pure sun, she might be certain sunsets
over water when there is no wind and your boat relaxes. A sun simply
liking the cool stillness. Not minding that this moment will end
soon. Orange Girlfriend is fire at rest.
One
Girlfriend is more sound than seen and so this hesitancy of color talk in
regard to her. This Girlfriend a series of swamp sounds.
After-heavy-rain-sounds. Leaving-no-time-soon sounds. How to
say. This woman puddly mud. Webbed feet suctioning from mud—that
type of plap of sound. This thick wet more than brown. She brown
but more. All colors having lost their boundaries in brown. The
slickest depth of green. Something old here. The age of old
rain. What might be moss or aging ferns but isn't.
One
Girlfriend is not girl she's woman. One woman would pull in and harden a
moment when called girl inadvertently. One Girlfriend who is this
"woman-only" is buff. Pearl. With the slightest dust of
pink. A bisque cream all over. But porcelain free of
crackles. A tall cream in scarves and fine shoes. The name of her
type of becoming is "buds of chives at point of opening." The
initial fraying—part bud, part sharded, part pink, part rose. This woman
at dusk. In mist. Through gauze. Through increments of
weather
 |
| Nancy Dunlop |
This poem is part of a manuscript
entitled, Rebuilding the Meteorite.
It was written at a time in my life when I was prolific in poetry, and
therefore I was in close relationship with Language. I was lexically
limber, and words poured out fluidly. This poem is close to synesthesia,
sounds and images blending in my head in a glutinous manner. I imagined
my closest girl friends as vibrations, which turned into colors. I
remember each woman with affection and still see them as colors.
Nancy
Dunlop is a poet and essayist who resides in Upstate New York, where she has
taught at the University at Albany. A finalist in the AWP Intro Journal
Awards, she has been published in print journals including The Little
Magazine, Writing on the Edge, 13th Moon: A Feminist
Literary Magazine, Works and Days, and Nadir, as well
as online publications such as Swank Writing, RI\FT and alterra.
Her work has also been heard on NPR.
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