PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND
after Francesca Woodman
To return in autumn
is to hide behind a fireplace
slip under a sheet of wallpaper.
I twirled nude through rooms
lived for the lens of a Yashica reflex.
I used a mirror to see between my legs.
I preferred a single shot:
to blur a trace of the subject.
I wore damask like a shroud.
a whirlpool through which I could fall.
& caught bubbles as they escaped my lips.
I spent too long studying a stain under an architrave.
I never came back.
My arms held out in front of me like a somnambulist.
I’d hang myself
from lintels in cruciform pose. I never had a house
I was the true Baroque. I’d wander up a staircase
play hide-and-seek till the boyfriends left me.
I adored puppets:
how they swung.
made me believe in magic.
The house devoured me.
I’m seeing the after-image.
How I clipped on angel wings
till the answer appeared.
Here I am in pages.
Here I am
reweaving her tapestries.