SCULPTURE

I surprise myself sometimes. In good ways, in not such good ways, in ways that make me smile, and ways that have me grimacing at the mirror. But surprise is a reaction nonetheless.

So I was quite surprised when I found that I’d just written a poem about being a sculpture.

Sculpture

It hurt a little bit

Each chip and chisel hit

And hammer crack

And scraping back

The peeling of the stone

It hurt a little more

As tumbled to the floor

The cornered rock,

The solid block

Revealing me alone

It hurt like all the world

Inside this stone was curled

To see the form

Unleashed, reborn

In marble silk and bone

It hurts to be set free

Diminished by degree

By sculptor cleft

And all that’s the left

Is standing on its own