Fable of the Color Green
after Quiron (acrylic on canvas) by Verne Mittlestadt
If our sun is the withering eye of God, the Greeks
had it right with picturesque idols poised to wreak
scorching havoc. The centaur who tutored Achilles
was only 1/3 human, like an orb bisecting a rectangle
or semicircle off-kilter. Through the calculation
of myth, two fractions unite. Rename Quiron
Chiron. Only then may we gild the cosmos.
In the painting, the Scientist notes a litmus
of egg yolks bluing up against Earth’s horizon
but the Child sees a hallway to the risen sun
of tomorrow, that green equals a moon’s envy.
And the Poet writes, The pearls lay stacked in a way
that dusk ambers each of them. Or Marbles of phlegm
rise, nothing but pus bubbles, as if to condemn
art, myth and science. I’ve a notion to see
bullet casings aligned for the chamber. If Emily
thought her life a loaded gun, what is mine?
A blur on one of Saturn’s numerous moons.
by Allen Braden
Allen Braden was first bitten by the writing bug as a child reading Robert E. Howard, Michael Moorcock and J.R.R. Tolkien. He is the author of two poetry collections: A Wreath of Down and Drops of Blood and Elegy in the Passive Voice. He lives near the historic site of Fort Steilacoom in Lakewood, Washington.
Photo by Matt Jones on Unsplash
Carolyn Clink, David Clink, and Herb Kauderer, Amazing Stories’ poetry editors, are proud to present this month’s poem.
