after the storm, silver and green (vault sky)

Arthur Dove, 1923

by Jesse Curran

We must remember he lived on a boat. 

We must imagine what it feels like to sway.

We must recall the sea is never still, even when still.

We should reminisce that we were once embryos 

    then tiny people, sheltered in amniotic warmth.

We should try to see the sound as a mattress, a watery bed 

    a soothing expanse of undulating rhythm. 

We might then sense that for Arthur Dove, the bay itself

    was a berth with a view.

We might image how it looked after the storm

   the clouds clearing and the moon’s reflection 

   cascading across the Cow Harbor Bay.

We might then learn that metallic paint offers a shine

    not otherwise possible with the standard earthy oils.

When we behold the painting, we might see ourselves.

We might stare out on our seas and feel safe and at ease.

We too might feel ourselves being gently rocked.

We too might remember that water 

    draws away 

    half of our pain.

Jesse Curran is a poet, essayist, scholar, and teacher who lives in Northport, NY. Her essays and poems have appeared in a number of literary journals including About Place, Ruminate, After the Art, Allium, Blueline, and Still Point Arts Quarterly. She teaches in the Department of English at SUNY Old Westbury. www.jesseleecurran.com