The Woman of Willendorf
Her maker knew what he was doing, but that
was a cool 28,000 years ago and now
we have to guess. Stick her footless ankles
in the earth and she becomes the earth,
and the earth becomes woman. She’ll fit
in your hand, and yet, so engorged, all
breasts, body, hips, hair, she is pure
sex, too powerful to hold. Her maker
revered her, or maybe feared
the terror of creation, the unknowable
as dangerous as a sow bear.
More dangerous still, for the future
of the human animal: imagine the moment
of her conception, as her maker thinks
a thought no human has ever had before--
I will make a rock into a woman. From cold stone
I will give birth to an idea.
Barbara Carlton is a writer of poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. She lives in San Diego, California. In her other professional life she is an architect. In her personal life she is the mother of two grown children and the servant of two cats known as the Permanent Toddlers.
The Ekphrastic Review
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