Poem by Cathy ColmanIncompleteness Theory
But I want to tell you the story. That evening I was locked in the museum and smuggled food from the paintings: Van Gogh’s rotten pears. Magritte’s huge apple. Rembrandt’s overcooked potatoes. I want you to know. I remember I came to see your kind of place, for days in crowded unseaworthy rafts, only to be turned away again from shore. I want to tell you about the theory of incompleteness, that in any mathematical system there is always a question in the language of that system that cannot be answered. We slow-danced naked, as in a low-budget film, out-of-sync looping, my ravenous silverfish lingerie, peppered with holes. Now, as I lie on the ink-spattered linoleum that limns a map of the heavens, my limbs search for the center of exactly what will hurt the most. Inside the dark, becalmed, I find god’s fingerprint, the horse latitudes where sailors used to heave the great beautiful beasts overboard to save on weight and water. I want you to know. You touched my riverbed hair. Falling down through winter’s painted carapace I see myself, I want myself, without you everywhere, starving. |
Cathy Colman’s first book Borrowed Dress won the 2001 Felix Pollak Prize for Poetry from the University of Wisconsin Press and was on The Los Angeles Times Best-seller List the first week of its release. Her second collection, Beauty’s Tattoo, (2009), was published by Tebot Bach Publications. Her poetry has appeared in Barrow Street, The Gettysburg Review, The Huffington Post, The Colorado Review, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, The Journal, Writers on Writing (Putnam) and elsewhere. She has won the Browning Award for Poetry and the Asher Montandon Award for Poetry. She was nominated for Pushcart Prize seven times and was a former reviewer for The New York Times Book Review. She has just completed her book Incompleteness Theory. She teaches fiction and poetry and lives in Los Angeles.
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