Private Collection, 1917

poem

by Tamar Amir

Seated Woman in Violet
Stockings you stare at
me unastoundedly in
the eyes as I
survey you touching
your privates, striking
in your still-kept pose,
reposed, leaning into
layers,
Shielding your search
with outlined bundles,
of glassy gray, black-blue,
your lips pursed, awaiting
red to flower through.

You are silent,
I am the lonely one.
Your hair is autumn leaves,
I’ll leave you fall into your
story’s colour.