In Vuillard’s Interior

Pam Bernard
| poetry

 

All’s rooted here in forgiveness—

forgiver and forgiven deep

 

in the textured present. Pleasure

rises from the dappled surface,

 

where, in the chaos of patterns,

a woman emerges, then

 

another, flowered dress

against flowered wall.

 

Her shadow’s the equal

of her body, a cameo’s

 

milky profile pinned

to her bosom, while

 

the other bends to her

task, pale nape of her neck

 

defined by the blue oval

of washbasin behind her.

 

The needle’s infinitesimal prick

into silk, her breath just after.

 

Each mark is a universe

within the larger cloth, traveling

 

beyond the frame, beyond

the idea of what it might mean

 

to be in such a place, how

the chair receives

 

her wide hips when she

is done with her housework, how

 

the piano waits patiently

for the other’s warm fingers.

 

These women demand no pity,

no sadness lies underfoot—

 

not in this simple room, fragrant

with farm bread and jam.

 

Outside, veils of bittersweet

climb beyond restraint.

 

But here, in the quotidian—

everything familiar somehow

 

something has come clear,

which, in the false clarity

 

of what seems to be,

was forgotten.

 

Pam Bernard’s awards include an NEA and two Massachusetts Cultural Council Fellowships. A book-length poem entitled Esther is forthcoming from CavanKerry Press.

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