(Camille’s private thoughts regarding Monet.)
How quick you are to acquaint me
with poppies and the sun
slanting its rays through the poplar trees.
The light burns hypnotic
in your eye. The moment is your mistress
bright and unpredictable. I ‘m the fixed detail
of an oil on canvas; absorbed well by its linen breadth
and your greed for perfection.
Will you ever understand a woman
is more than the loom work
of her parasol and gown?
Even they are borrowed for this scene.
You cannot afford the fine clothing, only
bowls , bottles and brushes
for your painting, a bridal trousseau for art.
I am jealous, so I cry
corseted in silk and silence.
If only your hand would pursue
the pain glistening on my face,
Claude Monet once said regarding his obsession with capturing the light, “I’m sure I’m chasing the merest sliver of color. It’s my own fault, I want to grasp the intangible.”