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life study :: april lindner

by on November 20, 2015

The screen, as if to view me were forbidden.
The robe, rubbed thin by bodies it has hidden.

The plywood platform costumed in a sheet
adorned with bottles and a sheaf of wheat.

The half-lit room, its easels in two rows,
each with a stranger waiting for the pose.

My hands like dead weight dangling at each side.
Though I might wish for one, no place to hide.

My hope: to be a shape in air, a gesture,
to meet nobody’s eyes while the professor

moves me into place. His studied hand
which tugs my arm and shows me how to stand.

The spotlight flooding half my flesh with heat.
My other side in shadow. My cold feet.

And at the break, their sketches on display,
each with a different angle to convey,

sum up the profile, belly, hips and thighs
of somebody I barely recognize.


From → poems

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