After Rothko’s Untitled (Blue, Green, and Brown)
Under sea, where the only sound is heartbeat,
part the dappled water before you,
its blue darks and lights. The way is dim
and blurs opaque ten feet from your eyes,
so you will have to move by slick touch in the deep
and tread gently as a fish along the ancient tiles.
Where you walk, the gold leaf has all but worn off
under the feet of other visitors, revealing the stone
ochre, indigo, green. It isn’t a poor welcome--
imagine the blue, half-painted ceiling of St. Mary’s
opening gold stars beneath your shoes.
Aza Pace’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Southern Review, American Chordata, Entropy, and Feminine Inquiry, among others. She is the winner of a 2017 Inprint Donald Barthelme Prize in Poetry. As an MFA student at the University of Houston, she serves as Poetry Editor for Gulf Coast.