I awake alone in the painter’s bed
it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust
my mind to register
and then it comes back to me.
The vaulted, coffered ceiling’s exposed beams
are an endless sky of dark brown
the sheets are taupe
towels beige and gray
furniture brown, white, beige
the sofa’s deep brown corduroy stripes
add straight lines and edges
to this masculine color palette
beige walls host his dark canvases
reds and browns and blues and grays
one with dried leaves on a backdrop of muted reds and browns and ochres
brush stokes, hue, form and pattern in strong verticals
drinking in the light, hoarding it
stingily emitting only shadows
an oversized exposition poster
his painting of a medieval stone ruin
in deep reds behind marzipan grasses
under a sky of a thousand grays
and here is her name
“El sueño de Julia”
the woman whose presence in a dream
was enough to wipe out all remaining feminine traces.
I pad through the house in fuzzy purple slippers
their flamboyance of pink flamingos tottering on one leg
a circuitous riot on the white marble floor.
I fill a bowl with chocolate truffles wrapped brightly in shiny gold and blue
place it on the glass coffee table
with the bouquet of dried reeds and grasses the color of wheat.
I rummage through the linen cabinet
fold the white duvet cover with a swirling motif of khaki leaves
across the foot of the bed
adding the tiniest bit of curve and contrast
to the monotone geometric bed ensemble.
The pink and white carnations
I bought at the Mercado Encarnación
open to reveal a magenta blush
their tall green stems and yet-to-open buds
incongruous with the dark blue, gray and maroon table runner
that manages to make the room darker
than had the table remained bare.
My coffee cup
hand-painted bright red with yellow, white and blue design
from the Triana ceramicist whose family has been creating tile azulejos for generations
dries alone in the rack
Ikea beige cups and dishes are stacked in the cabinet.
Alone in the painter’s realm
I wonder when I will come to him in a dream
who will be the next
to bring small bursts of color
soft fleshy curves
when he has
swept clean
of all traces of me.