Scarlet Corduroys in Santorini
Lexy Courneya
aug 2020
after “Nocturne with Choking in Calloway Gardens” by William Fargason The ocean invites affection like an unfurled hand resting between two lovers The cobblestone street slopes towards the marina a current which carries me to sea The fisherman who was carved from an olive tree The fisherman whose lopsided cap betrays a face a face with furrows that cast shadows tosses netting into the sea Fish flicker undulating and glinting like waves hoping that friction will set wicks ablaze The fisherman pulls them into the “Undertow” a wooden rowboat with chipping paint reminiscent of apricots pomegranate and dill Fish writhe shimmering like wind chimes but wind doesn’t whisper There are no vendors peddling produce in the marketplace There are no donkeys transporting travelers to the inn Only gills flapping like caged birds The fisherman’s fingers reek of barracuda and conger eel But the fisherman craves red snapper pan seared in extra virgin olive oil His gaze fillets removing bones until only flesh remains Wind whispers Her susurrations slutshame raising goosebumps wherever sun has lain with skin raising goosebumps wherever sun has disrobed the priestess has unstitched the seams of the surplice wherever patchwork lace and linen unravel peeling like phyllo pastry I am molting slowly exposing myself stripping bed sheets from incarnadine flesh dangling figs before the barren tree I will never be clean I will never be pure blue like the eggs of Hera’s cuckoos the cloudless sky or domed roofs I swath myself in cerulean sea summoning Ágios Ioánnis with a song I writhe glistening like honey