Elizabeth Davidson

THE HEART OF A WOMAN WEIGHS EIGHT OUNCES
 

I stand in front of a canvas,
cast a distorted shadow,
draw myself in segments—
counting freckles in spilling
change from suns past
their zenith, copper asphalt
broken by a soft shift of aging
sheet—I save the heart
for last. Sketch it
between undefined breasts,
paint it the color of brick houses,
tie it to the torso with arteries
like fibrous roots tangled in clay. 


back to contents

prev
next