“Renoir’s Women” by John Grey


Renoir’s women,
fulsome and draped in pink,
their nakedness, less undraped
than lifted out of
the clothing-slighted body

 

Unlike the older masters,
the pores are done away with,
no veins, no sinews beneath the skin,
just light.

 

Reflection is swathed in a blanket.
Exuberance bathes in the sea.
Gentleness fixes its hair.
Innocence lifts the whitest of legs
over the edge of a tub.

 

I’m as close as the stillness
around their lips and breasts.
I could almost… but I can never…
my favorite situation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions, and the anthology No Achilles, with work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Gargoyle, Coal City Review, and Nebo.