What it feels like to be a Woman

Woman 

Sand, but I slip through

Cracks in the marble

Like the ink the bled out

through my wounds 

Art changes 

and re-shapes you

But, not like being chiselled into

moulds of beauty

You opened your mouth 

Words came out

The sculptor wonders if he

spoke too soon

Thin fibres encased in the

clay (of doom)

Long limbs were there

to be draped ..

round

With legs of reckless abandon

Refusing to be defined 

in any, particular, way 

New, Always, clay sculptures 

of brain maps 

of wonder 

Voices of yesterday - and now 

That were forever

meant to STAY 

Emptied in Autumn

like the branches 

Rumbling onto a stage 

Art is a template for harnessing rage 

tarastar.substack.com