Suspended Breath

I traced the curves,

the quiet arc of stone,
mimicking what the artist
had long ago coaxed
from cold marble.

I knew nothing of them-
the hands that breathed life
into stillness
nor could I name
the patience of the women
sitting frozen in that moment,
simplicity held perfectly
in the sway of a shoulder,
the tilt of a chin.

My charcoal sought them,
lines running, searching,
pulling feeling from memory,
trying to capture the quiet ache
of waiting
of being held, suspended,
frozen in time
until someone,
anyone,
might break the outer shell
and release me
from the binds
I had carried
so long.

Author's Note

© 2007 / Reimagined 2025

Reviews

[Curly Grace]

Randall, I promise I’m no marble maiden. Venus de Milo wishes she had my range of motion. I’m very much alive, smudged in charcoal, and fully operational. ;)

[Randall]

I see a comparison of Venus de Milo to yourself. Be aware that you are a living woman, flesh and blood.
Randall...