Statue

I am carving a statue

Age seated in her backyard
tearing feathers off a live fowl

I concentrate
Climb into her hands

Watch the red wart on her face rising
The rock ridge of her nose
Sharpen for the kill

Blood

but behind her eyes run
other tides coasts
This chisel sights follows

Here the tails of whales are lashing the waters

They shall be my statue.

Robert James Berry


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