after Irving Penn’s photo, Underfoot XXXIII
In the heavens a wizened cherub lingers,
his magnetic expression, weathered, even grim.
Unworldly. Oh, vertigo! Our man-cum-meteorite,
hurled to the pavement. That atmospheric glitter,
silicon carbide asphalt catching light. Do we stargaze
or dodge objects that could very well do us in?
Would you step over this? Walk past? Not Irving Penn,
who found art in spat out chewing gum. Prod at your peril
what evolved from elastic to hard as a kidney stone.
Penn reminds us that one viewer’s detritus will
be another’s overlooked gem. Our minds, hands,
mouths and hearts, free to explore or discard.
Editor's Note: This poem was written in response to photographer Irving Penn's series, Underfoot, specifically, "Underfoot XXXiii." Due to copyright restrictions, we regret being unable to show the image, and invite you to view it here to get the full impact of the poem. The image shown above is a placeholder image, not the original inspiration for the poem.
Margo Davis is grateful for past residencies outside Barcelona and in Italy's Abruzzo National Park. This year's calendar was to include northern Morocco, Budapest and Assisi. Her home base is Houston. Twice nominated for a Pushcart, Margo’s poems have appeared in numberous journals and anthologies over the years, including The Ekphrastic Review, What Rough Beast, Misfit, The Fourth River, and The Houston Chronicle.
The Ekphrastic Review
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