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.

.

pain, 

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)

 

4 thoughts on “A Novelty

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