Monday, March 17, 2014

Jacqueline Bourque


Natasha (he calls her this), pose for me
arms half raised.

Natalie curls her neck back
(like a Mute Swan he thinks)
throbs her wings
and disappears
a waft of incense in her wake—Patchouli.
he breathes in
her absence
yes, Patchouli.

He shifts his easel
paces, stretches a canvas—
tosses paint tubes, grabs
brushes, daubs, swirls
almost tastes Vera’s greens.
Not for now

the buttery Montrachets.
Le Pois Pench√©’s foie gras.
As she steals away
just this

Natalie Kessab’s √©lan
her silk lingerie shop

seized in his frame.

Jacqueline Bourque grew up along the ocean shores of New Brunswick. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Fiddlehead, The Antigonish Review, Queen’s Quarterly and the anthology I found it at the Movies (Guernica Editions). A member of Ruby Tuesdays writing group, she is currently writing a suite of ekphrastic poems on FrederickVarley’s paintings.

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