When the emaciated lovers at Picasso's tableinsist on their "Hello," feed on this as you would a crusty loaf.These aren't swans swimming in a castle moatto twinkle the eye with a mythic serenity. As I lookat art, this art I am a player,What moves me is the way of it, the blueof it, not the couple manipulating meto weep at their cadaverous plight. I would not move the bottleor the bowl. My eyes are conduits in this day'sgrant, an Andalusia carried in my bones. [End Page 29]
Peggy Aylsworth is a retired psychotherapist, living in Santa Monica with her poet/essayist husband, Norm Levine. Her poetry has appeared in Beloit Poetry Journal, The MacGuffin, Ars Interpres, Chiron Review, DMQ, Innisfree Poetry Journal, and Poetry Salzburg Review. Her work has been published in numerous other literary journals throughout the U.S. and abroad. One of her poems was nominated for the 2012 Pushcart Prize.