The Spring

By MA


1.

He tells her she’s the Birth of Venus. She treads lightly in the spring pool. Her skin is like white marble. He enters the water and moves toward her like a rising tide. His hands wrap around her figure. She asks, “What do you want?” He settles into “You,” but his voice slides over the water’s surface. His voice carries a multiplicity as it distorts in the wind. When it reaches her she hears uncertainty. She swims away from him. He swims towards her. They are both so buoyant. She stands where it is shallow, where the water wraps around her waist. The silence between them thickens. He swims to where he’s neck deep and treads quickly. His throat releases another “You.” This time it is flat and cold and cautious like it was too much to say and too much to give.

She crosses her arms and lets him enter the cracks of her figure. He whispers “Repose One” into her ear. Repose 1 is the bending of her elbows, the cupping of her hands, the tilt of her chin. How many names does he give her? How many names does she keep? He enters Repose 1 through the cracks between her arm and waist, thigh and thigh, the fractures of space that divide them. He wants to bind his skin to hers, to wrap around and into her, to reshape them into Repose 2. He wraps his arms around her but like water he slides past her body.

The spring water softens their skin. Minerals coat their bodies. It’s nearly impossible to hold an embrace. He returns to the deep.

He watches the beads of water slip down the slope of her neck.

He thinks they are like clockwork. The Birth of Venus reclines on warm sandstone titled Nude 1. He approaches her. He carries a clementine and an umbrella. She meets his gaze and sighs. Her back slightly concave: Nude 2. She looks at him and reaches for the clementine: Nude 3.

He peels the fruit for her. He cannot disturb her figure beside the spring. She is the study of a nude. She is almost a painting.

He fumbles to open the umbrella and places it in a stand. Umbrella fig. 1: a triangular shadow cuts across her back. The umbrella is too far removed. She stands up quickly. She removes herself from the shadow and walks into the sun.

He tears off the rind. The fast pull breaks the pith. Juice splatters and stings his hands.

She stretches out alongside the spring. The sandstone tiles absorb the water. He sees the traces of her stained into the stone. He places the peeled clementine by her knee and pushes the water out from the strands of her auburn curls. The pink sandstone absorbs the water in lopsided circles of maroon. He feeds her the clementine. Her lips press closed around the fruit. She slightly smiles with the crush of the pulp.

He traces Noon to Six on her back. His breath rises and falls with hers. He thinks they are like clockwork. Two wet bodies dripping water onto stone.


2.

He tells her she's the Birth of Venus. She splashes him from inside the spring pool. Her skin is like white marble. He laughs and enters the water. He moves towards her like a rising tide, his hands wraps around her figure. She asks “What do you want?” He settles into “You” but his voice slides over the water's surface. His voice carries a multiplicity as it distorts with the wind. She hears uncertainty, she swims away from him. He swims towards her. They are both buoyant in the spring. In the pool she stands where it is shallow, where the water wraps around her waist, and the silence between them thickens. He treads quickly. His throat releases“You” this time flat and cold and cautious.

The Birth of Venus may be described as an oil painting; a painting which marks the Neo-Platonism period and a fusion of reinvesting pagan gods into Christian faith. Boticelli invokes Venus with the Virgin Mary. She sinks underwater. He stares at the auburn crown of her head until her lips push through the water’s surface.

She crosses her arms and lets him enter the cracks of her figure. He whispers “Repose One” into her ear. Repose 1 is the bending of her elbows, the cupping of her hands, the tilt of her chin. How many names does he give her? He enters Repose 1 through the cracks between her arm and waist, thigh and thigh, the fractures of space that divide them. How many names does she keep? He wants to reshape them into Repose 2. He wraps his arms around her but like water he slides past her body.

Repose. He whispers this word in reaction to her staccato movements. She recalls the slide he projected onto his studio wall: a smeared depiction of Picasso's mistress Marie-Thérèse Walter. A canvas covered in oil paint, an abstract figure reposing into a half-seated state, a woman composed of teal, fuscia, maroon, orange, and indigo. She pulls herself up onto the edge of the pool and lets her legs dangle in the water. The sun beats down at the center of her chest. She drops her head back.: Repose 3.

He pulls at her toes and she lets him pull her entire body back into the water. The spring water softens their skin. It's nearly impossible to hold an embrace.

An underground river floods into the stone foundation. The moss and ferns grow rampant covering the landscape with their green.

The Birth of Venus reclines on warm sandstone titled as Nude 1. He stares at her and is reminded of a postcard hanging on the wall of his study: Nude Woman, an example of the human figure in Paleolithic Art. The legs and torso are carved so the figure appears to emerge from the stone. The thigh and calf are full and round. The Nude Woman appears soft and well polished to highlight the smoothness of the figure's form. He approaches her. He carries a clementine and an umbrella. She meets his gaze and sighs with her back slightly concave. Almost a sculpture.

He stands, fumbles to open the umbrella, places it in a stand. Umbrella fig. 1 A triangular shadow cuts across her back. The umbrella is too far removed. She stands up quickly. She removes herself from the shadow. She walks into the sun.

He tears off the rind. The fast pull breaks the pith. Juice splatters and stings his hands.

She stretches out on the side of the spring. The sandstone tiles absorb the water. He sees the traces of her stained into the stone. He places the peeled clementine by her knee and pushes the water out from the strands of her auburn curls. The pink sandstone absorbs the water in lopsided circles of maroon. He feeds her the clementine. Her lips press closed around the fruit and slightly smile with the crush of the pulp. He traces Noon to Six on her back. His breath rises and falls with hers. He thinks they are like clockwork. Two wet bodies dripping water onto stone


3.

He tells her she's the Birth of Venus. She laughs swimming in the spring pool. Her skin white like marble: Venus de Milo, Cnidian Aphrodite. She wants to tell him, I'm trying to write you with my whole body, shooting an arrow that firmly pierces the tender nerve ends of the world but instead she runs her fingers along the surface of the spring watching the sunlight ripple, watching the metamorphosis of light's reflection, watching the metamorphosis of water's shape. He tells her she's the Birth of Venus. She is almost a painting. Born from the sea. Almost a sculpture. Birthed by the rocks. Her skin is like white marble.

The spring water is turquoise. Rainwater floods into the pool because the roof decayed and left only a rectangular stone frame above it. Violet bush-clover flowers grow in the gnarled grasses and ferns, their pink petals slightly droop. The scene is composed of maroon, pink, turquoise, green, cerulean, gray, brown, ivory and tan.

She continues to reposition her body and he continues to visually consume her.

The spring water softens their skin. Its nearly impossible to hold an embrace. He returns to the deep and watches water slide down the slope of her neck.

There was a geologist who studied the aquifer. The geologist introduced her mother to the spring. Her mother and the geologist were once young and naked and collected samples of the soil, rocks, and water. The geologist brought the jars to his lab and through the microscope they examined the quartz, feldspar, mica, and the pegmatitic minerals that fed natural lithium into the pool.

The spring as a naturopathic escape.

It was a reunion of types for her to step into the pool. The spring helped her interpret the shape of herself. To return to the structure of her body. To return to weight. His body slides against her, slides past her, she focuses on the action of slide and the layer of skin that transforms from a porous woven wall of oscillation to a tightly woven membrane for slip past.

She stretches out on a conglomerate of sandstone and quartz. He reaches for a clementine. He tears off the rind. The fast pull breaks the pith. Juice splatters onto his hands. He feeds her the fruit. Her lips press closed around the carpel. She crushes the pulp with her teeth releasing its sweet juice into her mouth. She rests her head on her hands. He traces Noon to Six on her back. His breath rises and falls with hers.




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