Picasso: Two Women

Running on the Beach, 1922

Clothes are too trivial

for such breasts. such knees.

So globed with light.

The sea is blue without

restraint. Cloud-spattered

sky, an open mouth.

The blue air quickens

their gritty steps.

Bare-foot, bare-breast,

they run. Their shadows

run, make dark

cross-hatches on the sand.

Not to their lovers.

Not with the wind. They are

the wind. Hair drunk

on speed, they run

out of nothing into this

primary blue and white.

What I love is that the women

never stop. They run. Toward

us, who do not yet exist.

~ Oriana