Coiled,
awaiting a summons,
my Cimmerian den
surrounded by indigo night,
who better to tell you
about desire,
myself desiring imagination’s
full length?

I would not have you think me
the sleepless Sybarite,
a crumpled rose leaf
rumpling his bed cushions.

Incorporeal, I yet admit
discomfort—eons
nestled turban tassel to tush,
doubled cheek, to elbow,
to thigh.

Always I awaken slowly
in a surly ring of smoke,
my serpentine sinuousness
stretching skyward
until I see below my curled toes,
silken slippers undulating
above the lamp’s brass rim.

You are not interested
in domestic arrangements,
rather in necromancy’s
sly secrets.

Very well then.
It is a slant of light
that enables magic, a faux-jour
in which a painting’s hung
so the painter’s light
and day’s light are variant,
a deceiving with your own eyes.

I tell you I deceive,
I will deceive,
I am deceiving.
Only in past tense,
the last wish fulfilled,
will you believe.

I built Aladdin’s azure palace from a
fisher’s hut,
convinced him the local harridan
was an emperor’s daughter,
had him counting slimy scallops
as gold coins in his coffer,
all in a slant of light until ….

The light begins to dissipate.
Caress the lamp,
release me,
bid me—
I will grant you kingdoms.

Ann Power is a retired faculty member from the University of Alabama. She enjoys writing historical sketches as well as poems based in the kingdoms of magical realism. Her work has appeared in: Spillway, Gargoyle Magazine, The Birmingham Poetry Review, The American Poetry Journal, Dappled Things, Caveat Lector, The Copperfield Review, The Ekphrastic Review, The Loch Raven Review, Halfway Down the Stairs, and other journals. In addition, Ann’s poem, “Ice Palace” (The Copperfield Review) was nominated for Best of the Net in Poetry last year.