by Lola Koundakjian, translated by William Snelling
Today I’ll sit in the museum
to greet the gold-fringed things,
the ancient masks in lit-up glass,
to leave behind these drab habits
and salvage some new light.
Today I’ll sit between the pages
that speak the street din and its pale dreams.
Then I’ll write a poem with an ocean in it,
where we can dip our toes.
Today I’ll see with a paint-dipped brush;
I’ll cut a sheaf into a milk-white frame
for my brush to tarnish with its step
then give up a plume of blue and green
to the water pot.
a self refracted
Today I’ll untwist the jar
just a little further.