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.


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