Her body reclines in a chair
Carved teak and polished whale bones
Crushed with insect wings.
Turtle shell and mother of pearl
Wink like spirit eyes around her tendril hair.
The mask of a frog laughs over her head,
Tells her something is near.
Asleep or poised, she is still.
A headdress woven with feathers
Of birds long extinct
Necklaces of glass slave trade beads
And braids the color of blood
Hang like vines over her breasts.
Blossom shaped earrings
Invite the voices of small birds.
The mouth of the forest has called her
With the whisper of snakeskin
Creasing a path over fallen leaves.
Her eyes open and slide to the side
Awake now and peering into the unknown,
Ready for flight or revelation.
Which spirit is present,
A servant or a god,
Watching over her in the dark?
Which guardian of the night
Seeks the warmth of her flesh?
The brown of her body
The color of tree trunks
Bends just out of reach.
Her memories hold the colors
Of bright fruit and flowers,
Blazing colors on fire,
And the scent of the night,
fragrant jasmine and gardenia,
Fills flared nostrils with perfume.
Gauguin steps away from the easel,
Lets his lover relax into dreams
as he lights a pipe, the blackened bowl
Clenched tight in twisted lips
flaring in approaching night
Cups the clotted brushes
As he walks toward the river.