Derek Jarman’s Death
oil on photocopy on canvas, 1993

You can’t see the headlines in black, white
underneath: gay plague
vile doom

you feel them
melted under the shock
of cadmium red deep, cerulean
manganese, marigold
chrome green
pure flesh, raw
trenches gouged
by the living fingers of the artist
scraping a cross


the canvas still shakes


—Lynn Caldwell

Lynn Caldwell’s poems hold fragments of her life on the west coast of Canada, in continental Europe and now in Dublin. They have found homes for themselves in Crosswinds Poetry Journal, the Irish Times, Aurora Poetry Journal, Crannog, and the Dedalus Press anthology Writing Home, among other places.