The Sleeping Muse
His muse sleeps on a burnished cheek,
a head become a looking glass,
its brass shines back my hopeful gaze.
My glance slides past the classic plane
of nose, the heavy lids that seal
her from a stranger’s stare and lingers
on her narrow lips, closed too, although
I see from her repose, her mouth must
have been open to Brancusi once.
Bodiless, she rests here after
their sweet hours tempting me to
wonder how he came to court that gloss
but there’s no answer from the muse,
the lady’s face is shut— fermé.
by Wendy T. Carlisle
Wendy Taylor Carlisle lives in the Arkansas Ozarks. She is the author of two books, Reading Berryman to the Dog and Discount Fireworks (both Jacaranda Books). Her most recent chapbook is Persephone on the Metro, (MadHat Press, 2014.) For more information, check her website at www.wendytaylorcarlisle.com.
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