Cliffs near Dieppe, 1882
By Aodhán Ridenour
Photo of “Cliffs near Dieppe, 1882” by Claude Monet.
Painted blisters, round and random,
childlike or elderly—depending on
perspective, or what you think
you know, or someone else
has told you.
Blues so smooth they make the
pink look jagged, untouched section
of the 64-pack, greens and grays
squeezed from a spectrum
like the Pillars of Creation.
Humanity perverse, it’s not a surface
to traverse; I wouldn’t want to
lay out on that beach.
Yet everybody
loves to gaze,
talk, and stare.
A scene of pastel painted blisters,
woven, doubled,
dectuple stacked;
a knife slit skin reveals
its melted crayon profiles.
I hated you at first, then
I loved you, standing back
a couple paces,
lacking glasses.
“It’s Impressionist,” they say, “so what is your impression?”
Should I use my
first, my second, or my fifth?
Does standing upside down
or drinking coffee
help me see it better?
Reflecting non-existent lights precisely
swooping sticks and hoops comprise
a devastating granite face
bespeckled by ten thousand
tiny painted stones.
