The Ransom, by ​Kari A. Flickinger

The Ranson, by John Everett Millais (UK) 1860-1862.

​The Ransom 

I have read that the artist held this 
young woman—this painting 
to be a failure.

She addresses the accused
fur-bearer—his dirty 
feet, obvious marked light—his hand
slumped inside his pouch with
her thick-browed gaze. Her eyes speak 
out of time, without sound. 

From the deep shade of her 
velvet brocade, her sweep 
of broad tight locks 
avoids disarray—she leans in 
to a familiar chest. Her direct
accusation tells, in a glance
that she knows the chill of his cuff
will do her no solace. 

Every man who wrestles with
this transaction looks away. 

He who seeks her face 
in the gallery—after few 
moments, decides—before 
the great canvas—she is 
too solemn to be 
a grown beauty—questions 
the exchange rate of frightened
goods. But, steadfast, the vapour of

her mortality makes a line—solid
unswayed from crimson toe.
Rooted to the centre.

Kari A. Flickinger

​Kari A. Flickinger was a 2019 nominee for the Rhysling Award, and a finalist in the Iron Horse Literary Review’s 2018 Photo Finish. Her poetry has appeared in Written Here: The Community of Writers Poetry Review, Riddled with Arrows, Door-Is-A-Jar, Rhythm and Bones, Nine Muses, Burning House Press, and Ghost City Review, among others. She is an alumna of UC Berkeley. When not writing, she plays guitar to her unreasonably large Highlander cat. Find her:    kariflickinger.com   @kariflickinger   legendcitycollective.wordpress.com