Ekphrastic

I have been

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A minature, wooden shelf, with many objects on it. On the very top of the shelves a small, green angel statue peers down at us, perched alongside a pair of round glasses, and a gold cigarette case. On the second shelf there is a small, wooden doll, with blonde, yarn-hair, a blue floral-patterened dress, and red shoes on. Behind the doll there is a paper cut into the vague shape of an angel, with a quote on it. To the right of that there is a box with patterened paper, buttons, and mancala playing pieces glued to the front in shades of pink, blue, and beige. On the third shelf there is another paper cut-out of an angel, some glass cover in ink blots, and a white, lace glove. On the bottom of the third shelf, there is a paper rose, glued on by its stem. On the bottom-most shelf there is a wooden framed pencil sketch of a woman, as well as some dried sunflowers.

Holding Memories, Donna M. Frustere, photo by Alana Borges Gordon

“I have been on the verge of being an angel all my life, but it’s never happened yet.”

I don’t know if Twain meant angel as in
messenger of God,
or simply
a man of great virtue.

There are three whole angels on this three-story little shelf.

And I don’t know just how “dangerous” his mind was,
or how that girl came to be
the only living, non-angel object on this shelf.

She sits with her legs stretched out,
forever attempting a split, but not quite there.
She smiles, but she is always
looking across the dead-silent room
at the sunsets.

Blends of fuchsia and blood orange and cobalt blue
she will never see because
she is stuck here
next to this paper cut out of an angel
doing the splits.

I wonder how she feels about the fact
that she will always be dreaming
and longing
and wishing
for her sunset,

but never really there.

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