The Original 9/24/25

The likeness that was left

was so burnished

that it resembled stone

that had been chiseled

then polished to look that way

by an artist whose hands formed her

before she knew who she was,

because back in the day

she was just a lump of clay.

All she knows is

that her skin feels smooth

from being touched

for much of her life. Lustrous.

As she stares into space

letting her mind wander off,

she looks so real.

An ethereal image of her thoughts

kept behind alarmed safety glass.

As if the Mona Lisa finally broke free from the frame

just to find herself confined inside of a mannequin.

Chaotic inside the stillness,

the imprisonment of the gallery,

packed with observers

convinced that her gaze is following

them around the room. Piercing.

A constant traveling display,

just when you get a little peek,

it’s all getting packed up and

moving back to Cleveland.

It’s like the circus is in town

for one night only.

Who knows when these clowns will be back.

Meanwhile, pretty girls

march on the tightrope

high above us all, while

she is stuck inside of her head outside

eternally looking at the sky.

Thinking about whatever a statue

thinks about.

The trees, no strangers to calming madness,

hover over her. Pining.

The sunlight tried all day to get in,

to win her over, to show her off, while the woods

hid her behind their drapes.

They all offered themselves up as sacrifices- for her sanctuary.

Martyrs who finally graduated from their own suffering

so they could become saints who sit in the dirt to provide shade

for someone who isn’t mortal, or of this earth. Believers.

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