Henry Ossawa Tanner’s The Angel of Death Following Two Lovers, n.d.
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— in memory of J. H. Prynne, whose death occurred on the day of this writing, and whose words acrost the threshold of what follows
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Timelike and blind, I know you
delirium. As light knows its own lisp is what
cools the water’s surface. So you look forward
at this path with confidence. Fearless rambler, no rue in
crossing the yellow ochre and viridian blended in clover;
with time being yours, while mine is the eyeless
head turning backwards, noting the shadow
in my fear of love is also my love for sfumato, my
arms covered in bumps and lampblackwords.
The ship on your lips
steadies itself for the journey
and the bird rises like a wine-bruise
also; the hum of a manganese violet
from a distant orchard. I read the like-minded
frenzy of purple hues upon your cloak. From here
to darker, I know the feel of green
fields moving faster. Dewless
we go into the darkest shallows.
delirium. As light knows its own lisp is what
cools the water’s surface. So you look forward
at this path with confidence. Fearless rambler, no rue in
crossing the yellow ochre and viridian blended in clover;
with time being yours, while mine is the eyeless
head turning backwards, noting the shadow
in my fear of love is also my love for sfumato, my
arms covered in bumps and lampblackwords.
The ship on your lips
steadies itself for the journey
and the bird rises like a wine-bruise
also; the hum of a manganese violet
from a distant orchard. I read the like-minded
frenzy of purple hues upon your cloak. From here
to darker, I know the feel of green
fields moving faster. Dewless
we go into the darkest shallows.
The All-Devouring Female to Her Creator
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with Auguste Rodin’s The Succubus, 1889, modeled by Camille Claudel
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My arms ache. Hair tickles my shoulders.
A woman alone is a statue you mold
into a monument, an object commissioned
to honor Victor Hugo. Who eats the other
alive. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize
myself in the position you told me to pose in.
Hold it, you murmured. My back curved
like a cat. Meow moving from throat to hips.
How I relished dawn’s sun on our bed. How
the human disappeared a little more with each
word you invented to hold her. My eyes were open
until you forged them. You glued them shut
in cold bronze. Put your finger between my lips,
Let me show you how it feels to devour forever.
A woman alone is a statue you mold
into a monument, an object commissioned
to honor Victor Hugo. Who eats the other
alive. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize
myself in the position you told me to pose in.
Hold it, you murmured. My back curved
like a cat. Meow moving from throat to hips.
How I relished dawn’s sun on our bed. How
the human disappeared a little more with each
word you invented to hold her. My eyes were open
until you forged them. You glued them shut
in cold bronze. Put your finger between my lips,
Let me show you how it feels to devour forever.
Augustine Said Adam Never Had an Erection
I love the blunt
bam of hammers, the wow
of wood smacking its lips
up and down the street's Saturn day
—and the sun
on my feet like the
O of god's mouth
must be toasty,
must be for
Someone
has a plan, and he's working
on it when the dads
on my block meet with friends
they ride bikes in packs
and I am happy
for the men, I am
reprieved by
their hammering,
the blooming of buddies,
the sense others have of
belonging — and me
with my lowermost
limbs in his
casual asides
being formative.
bam of hammers, the wow
of wood smacking its lips
up and down the street's Saturn day
—and the sun
on my feet like the
O of god's mouth
must be toasty,
must be for
Someone
has a plan, and he's working
on it when the dads
on my block meet with friends
they ride bikes in packs
and I am happy
for the men, I am
reprieved by
their hammering,
the blooming of buddies,
the sense others have of
belonging — and me
with my lowermost
limbs in his
casual asides
being formative.
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Alina Ștefănescu was born in Romania and lives in Birmingham, Alabama with her partner and several intense mammals. Recent books include a creative nonfiction chapbook, Ribald (Bull City Press Inch Series, November 2020) and Dor, which won the Wandering Aengus Press Prize (September 2021). Her debut fiction collection, Every Mask I Tried On, won the Brighthorse Books Prize (April 2018). Alina's poems, essays, and fiction can be found in Prairie Schooner, North American Review, World Literature Today, Pleiades, Poetry, BOMB, Crab Creek Review, and others. She serves as editor, reviewer, and critic for various journals and is currently working on a novel-like creature. My Heresies, a poetry collection, was published by Sarabande in late April 2025. More at www.alinastefanescuwriter.com.
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