Pomegranates£575
Acrylic on canvas. W 30", H 40"; 76 x 102 cm
Medieval travellers sailing the Seven Seas reported on the Isle of Women, in the Sea of Malayu. A thousand women fell on each sailor who set foot on the land, though they impregnated themselves by facing the wind, eating fruit, and beholding their own image.
LADY OF THE
POMEGRANATES
Sailors dream of you, plump, fertile,
Your body could float away
In a honeydew boat of ripe fruit.
You are ethereal, unattainable,
Large, but weightless, an illusion.
Through your translucent skin
Colours of land and sea peer.
Some say you’re an island goddess,
Who exists in the minds of sailors.
Starved of women and fruit,
They see you as the destination.
The bird in your hand would fly
As far as fantasy, but it is too far.
They will never find you, the men,
Who crave the succulent fruits,
They will never rest in your curves,
And you are past caring, you know
You are not just the figment
Of some half-crazed imagination.
You are real as pomegranates.
Linda Marshall
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