The Gabon Woman
Worn, withered, of wood, the Gabon woman waits. Breastless, ungenitaled, perfectly flat, angularly she waits. With legs disappearing into stone, arms ironed stiff: eyeless, hairless, a perfectly managed wooden way. From the side she is unsure, shoulders pointed skywards asking why? which way? for whose pleasure and profit? Refusing to be found, named, said--to be any other way. Bought, she cannot be owned. Positioned, she declines to stand upright. A page turned face down, a rhythm, she only repeats. Silent, she watches us watch her, each plane a way of arriving at the body: in and out of the frame. Mark Silverberg Mark Silverberg is the author of the Eric Hoffer award-winning ekphrastic poetry collection, Believing the Line: The Jack Siegel Poems (Breton Books, 2013). His poetry has appeared (or is forthcoming) in The Antigonish Review, The Nashwaak Review and Contemporary Verse 2. He is an Associate Professor of English at Cape Breton University where I specializes in American poetry, visual arts, and artistic collaborations.
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October 2024
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