Judith Beheading Holofernes
I went to Florence to escape his ghost that haunted me and made me claw my way deep into closet where I met a host of fears and ragged breath amid the fray. Gazing at Artemisa’s masterpiece, In the last room of my Uffizi tour Amidst low hum of panic interstice I felt fear’s hands around my throat once more. Her blood-flecked bosom steady through the strain As amber silk envelops strength of arm. Not left alone, her maid too bears the pain. I hear his dying gasp with some alarm because I hold the blade to roughly hew. Across the centuries, I know her too. Gretchen Bartels Gretchen Bartels is an associate professor with a passion for writing poetry that is matched only by her enthusiasm for dancing Lindy Hop and Balboa. She volunteers with survivors of sex trafficking at Rebirth Homes.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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November 2023
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