An Ode To The Wooden Lady by Jessica Byrne
She leans on one arm
as if bored
or
in thought
Two circles, an earring
a bracelet of wood
she sits criss-cross-apple-sauce
like they said
in kindergarten
But she’s older,
you know
by her curves
by the waiting
her stomach carved out
she must not hunger
like the rest of us
or maybe she is all hunger
on the mantle
watching us
patter
watching me
feed the cat
waiting— for what
that’s the art of it
the art of waiting
head on hand
once a tree
I wonder how old
she was
before she was chopped down
sanded
those curves of aged lines
across her chest