In that time when my face was whole,
love thought it knew my heart;
but when you wore my face to holes,
love found some missing parts.
Like all veneers, so lips will chip,
as surface roughs, so cheek;
so me who craved your covering hips
the bones as hard as teak.
I let the sky now hold my face
let blue through gap and tear,
and, in the night, the stars find space
to slip light through the wear.
And though my skin no more is whole
love loves with all my heart;
and though what’s me slips through the holes,
I love with each lost part.
Draft draft draft poem, for my own prompt on Real Toads to write about no more–here I’ve also tried to think of some of Byron’s rhythms. I’ve been thinking about this poem for the last couple of days and this version (just now come up with) excludes a few stanzas and takes it in a different direction. If anyone is interested in process or just likes to give free advice, I am happy to post other stanzas/versions.
The pictures above and below are from the wonderful Pergamon exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum in New York (Hellenistic statues from Turkey.) The poem is not ekphrastic, but I do like the pics, which set me on the track of the poem. All rights reserved.
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