for the woman painter, because things grow - Carolyn Creedon

[anotherhand]

for v. (ph) s.

vanessa, vanessa, with the name you hate--
don't hate that country too much.
he runs to mexico because there you can't name him.
they don't need water in mexico.
they do.

and then there's grapes. and then there's wine. everything
gets born from something else. the man
you thought you painted really lives-- but he can give
no more light or love than the toe of the moon
peeking out behind a thousand harem clouds.
sin hielo sin hielo, nothing shames him. in mexico
there's too much ice.

you can't paint him. there's too much you know.
you are his best friend because you don't know him at all.
you are his most precious lover because you don't sleep with him
at all.
sin hielo sin hielo, in mexico
there's too much sin.

you can't own him but you can
crush his aging grapes in the name of wine.
vanessa, vanessa, with the name you hate
and hair like a pool of spilled cranberry juice
vanessa, sin hielo, in mexico he loves you especially
after too much wine. and you say to yourself

you don't need him too much in mexico. you
do.