One tall candle flame
burns in a sconce.

A black-gowned figure
bisects the scene:

small head — female? —
short hair, downcast eyes.

Candle-light reflects clear,
just on the right cheek.

On the table a wineglass
— or is it a chalice? —

between two dark elbows —
long exaggerated arms.

The right hand shows only
four fingers — no thumb.

The left hand must hide
inside the long left sleeve.

One wonders if the hand
above the glass chalice

pauses in blessing —
or prepares to drop

in another poison pill?
She’s contemplating:

making up her mind,
— waiting for a sign?

Everything is long, lean —
enclosed in angled lines:

praying mantis green,
shades of olive walls.

Shadow-swirls dance —
marling every surface.

There’s one tiny bright
emerald-green triangle

between body-table-arm.
Is that the healing hope?

A similar shade of green
— not quite as brilliant —

covers the lower left corner —
where Mara signed her name.

The lonely circles in this piece
surround the candle flame.

Few other organic forms appear:
in chalice — eyes, lips, and head.

For some, the spleen holds light
— is this what the title reflects?

When demon Mara tempted Buddha
beneath the bodhi tree, he reached

down

with his right hand — touched dirt —
and said: The earth is my witness.

Yes, earth witnesses us all today —
amidst darkening — and in light.

. . . . .

Susan Powers Bourne
Ekphrastic poem reflecting
‘Spleen’ by Mara Rucki