I am the artist’s greatest joy
Five foot five and 1/62 ” wide-
A paper doll cut out from a stencil,
So thin and flat
That anyone can take the lightest lead
And pencil in my features.
And I let them.
What am I, a useless, flimsy doodle
To do to them?
Sometimes, though, if I turn enough
I am almost invisible,
A stray line- with a shadow
That lurks in every corner
And hangs over my head
Threatening to diminish my existence
To a pitiful pulpy paper mess.
But it never actually does.
With every slight brush of the wind’s fingertips
I straighten up with glee
Maximizing my surface area
Hoping finally, this will be
The day I am carried away
On the tumbrils of the breeze
To the clouds and sky above
Where instead of slowly fading
As pushes and pulls and sharp objects
Tear and pierce my soul-
A rip, a hole, widening slowly with the years-
Instead, I’ll be surrounded by
Cloud
Water droplets everywhere
Instantly saturating my soul.
And lightning will illuminate my departure
And thunder will throb with my throes
Until at last I disintegrate
And end my weary parchment woes.