Pierre
Bonnard entrava
no
museu com um tubo de tinta
no
bolso e um pincel de marta.
Depois
violando a integridade
de
uma das suas molduras
dava
uma pincelada de escarlate
na
pele de uma flor.
Assim
te parei eu
à
porta esta manhã
e,
passando o indicador pela língua, removi
uma
migalha invisível
dos
teus lábios escarlates. Como se
no
ritual da despedida
tivesse
de mostrar que ainda me pertencias.
Como
se a correção fosse
a
forma de amor mais pura.
Pierre Bonnard would enter
the museum with a tube of paint
in his pocket and a sable brush.
Then violating the sanctity
of one of his own frames
he'd add a stroke of vermilion
to the skin of a flower.
Just so I stopped you
at the door this morning
and licking my index finger, removed
an invisible crumb
from your vermilion mouth. As if
at the ritual moment of departure
I had to show you still belonged to
me.
As if revision were
the purest form of love.
Linda Pastan's
Vermilion is a poem that has captured the hearts of many readers since its
first publication in 1971. The poem is a beautiful description of a woman's
longing to be seen as a vibrant and sensual being, rather than just a housewife
relegated to the mundane tasks of daily life. Pastan uses vivid imagery and
language to paint a picture of a woman who is yearning for something more,
something that will bring colour and excitement to her otherwise dull and
monotonous existence.
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