Poetry: Claude Monet's Woman with a Parasol by Dorothy Lune

Claude Monet's Woman with a Parasol

He eats off a cheese board

due to his underbite, & if he

wanders off I cradle him.

God may be a crook in his moped.

In a rush to kill minds before the

bodies— my god, slow down, (you might hurt him).

Robbie has dementia which

means pausing on my foot before

passing me by, to inspect an

opaque blue bucket beside the toilet, (he's seen before).

(Dementia means to

extinguish envy) from desire—

his pale fur sways on a hillside,

gentle drift & fabric ripple /

mint parasol / petticoat.

He gets into bed via

plastic gray steps / dementia

means to (dream for a few

months more).

Each apartment door looks / the same—

/ but he can recall /

being fed purple grapes when

in ancient Greece. Robbie was

a poet you see, he amounted

to manuscripts of epics &

/ sublimity / he will bump into

doors of neighbors for a few

months more— who recalls,

perhaps (a few years more).

Dorothy Lune is a Yorta Yorta poet, born in Australia. Her work has appeared in Pinhole Poetry and others. She can be found online @dorothylune, and has a substack.