At the Louvre with Angel
she’s the first
to make eye contact.
The one pointing the coy, an-
gelic finger--so sly--at the virgin’s lap.
Like you, her position in the composition
is one she’d never put up with for long. Like
you, she’d roll her head to get rid of the crick in her
neck, cut her eyes away from the painter’s gaze, so set
on capturing the stillness in the symmetry of upper to lower lip;
the ellipse of nose; the triangular lightness of brow; the multiple angles
in the drape of her dress--pooling precisely over the curve of her shoulders
into her lap. She’d have ruined the whole tableau, if it weren’t for the master’s skill.
You might even say that, after today, I know the shape of her better--her geometry--better
than I know yours.
Lisa Righter Sloan
Lisa Righter Sloan has been writing poetry for about three or four years, so her list of accomplishments is humble and brief enough to submit in its entirety: she has received three honourable mentions from the South Carolina Poetry Society for their 2022-2023 fall/spring contests, and her chapbook, Bodies, was recently published by Bottlecap Press. She writes and lives a pretty idyllic life in Charleston, South Carolina.
The Ekphrastic Review
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