A Novelty

her hips swerve outside the lines,

sand-sheered dunes.

eyes, river washed obsidian 

flung like coal on the tracks.


there is no purchase for her feet

as she struggles 

to walk the rails of her age.

underneath the waters churn,

pulverizing stone.


the movement of her mind,

a circumpolar current,

lifting shards of criticism

from the abyssal plains 

of her heart.



submerged beneath  breasts,

the utilitarian reduction

of the essence of woman,

flesh for food and frolick,

streaked like her cheeks.


her scars tell the story

of a purposeful life,

and a few dabs of concealer 

will never mask –

the beauty of her soul.


© M.G. Iannucci 2017

Photo: Weeping Nude by Edvard Munch (1913-1914)


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