Three Poems: Joshua Garcia
Female model on platform
rocker, 1977-78
—after Philip Pearlstein
Pendulum of feeling, it strikes in silence. I carry the ghost of him with me, back and forth. Our heads tilted upward, I can almost see our faces, eyes closed, rocks warming in the sun. Like the parquet, we have intersecting secrets. We lay the groundwork, glide with the mechanics of time. Just keep listening to yourself. I sit upright in my sleeplessness. I open doors, windows, make a fan of my body to create a breeze. What lies before us, I do not know, but the past spreads its wings. Outside, the lindens rusting, perfume expands like a memory. When I stand, the back of the chair will be imprinted on my skin.
Female Model, Legs Up, 1975
after Philip Pearlstein
It is not as elegant as you thought it would be: assuming the line, tenderly, in the even-handed light. The rooms in which we consent to live are without character.2 Your spine flattens, breath empties into a bowl. We untire ourselves by making a buttress of compromise. What then is left in the absence of ornamentation? From the aroma of nakedness, a spire ascends, spearlike. And your desire became god. Appetite circulates like wine in a glass. Shadows, long and heavy, gather at the rim. Simplicity is the key note. An echo begins to settle, and blood drains from your legs. Your feet rise like balloons.