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On Rembrandt’s Isaac and Rebecca
by Mara Adamitz Scrupe
I might have mentioned something classical
about myths & magic. I might have talked
of famous warriors crossing the Rubicon
or goddesses or even saints. (& no one else in my real life
would have known what it meant.)
I might have rummaged around in my underwear drawer
(I kept the black lace panties
slit open at the crotch with the coral pink bow
you were mad for). In so wet a country (with dust
rising in the drought time) this is another
dream you once told me. That brilliance shown
in the middle of your pictures. That colors swirled
& bled (I see now how silken pigments & viscid oils
seduced you like murder & lust drew you
to the killing hand).
I might have trusted you reckoned you a king a priori
(on my faith alone) believed (on my knees) in you
as genuflection is to the treasure
of certainty as nave to sanctuary
as the axis the cross is to my body’s
chapel. I might have hidden my tenderness
condensed the truth to hankering/ an itch
or a weakness. Concealed (we looked like brother & sister)
there was only that single pearl (your fingertips
searched pressing) in our rush to pleasure.