Pale Fire Stare
I would dance,
in the night’s silver toned light,
break my mighty stance to bend
in the breeze with the long, thronged tails,
but by chance I serve a greater purpose.
A monument to the bent neck glares,
the mutterings at my body laid bare--
It’s cold in here.
Wait, you, the one enraptured.
I’m curious to know what you mean
by lingering on my pale fire stare?
I would tell you, in an impulse
if my stony mouth could chew
the words, my voice would scream--
who, who, who are you?
Like the thundering beat of battle
my heart would rage to crack the hardened,
forged body, my fingers would hope
beneath your hands I might soften,
tremble and blush at the inhales--
Astonishing, aren’t I?
I’ve waited to be brought to life,
through Ancient dreams and ecstatic tales,
the milky white moons of Neptune,
retellings of my illustrious creation.
Death can’t touch me here,
I’ve been cast in marble to their liking,
a fevered dream of near sighted devotion--
Am I built to suffer your parting?
I’ll stay here, burdened by the stare
of the incubus glare of my disciple
and a spider’s lying web casting
across my marbled cheek, unaged
by the sun touched room, the wearing
of passing shoes and the silence
of shadows at closing. I’d have more
for the child at my hip, toss them to the nymphs
before I’d let the world take them
as they’ve taken me, what’s mine,
their fickle, desperate, empty hunger
and what follows, a devouring.
Allyson Abernathy holds a BA in Creative Writing from Anderson University. She’s had fiction, non-fiction, and poetry previously published in the Ivy Leagues Literary Journal, Necrology Shorts, LitBreak Magazine, and featured in the collection Love: An Anthology of Love Poems. She is currently at work on a novel and resides in South Carolina with her husband, daughter, and two wild dogs.
The Ekphrastic Review
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