Sculpt

Another poem in my series about Sculptress Nancy Elizabeth Prophet. Prophet modeled this realistic wooden portrait after her estranged husband, Francis Ford of who she later divorced in 1932. After her divorce, she changed her name to Prophet, the modern spelling of the archaic Profitt.

________________________________________

Another day

I sit alone

in a dim room.

Hands stroke

a familiar

surface.

Some hug trees

but I prefer

the soft

whittled wood

smoothed down

to silk

perfection.

The wood

doesn't feel

my shaky hands

as it is the only

thing in my

life that bends

to my will.

I hunger to

the point of

being ill

but I sand

and shape

and rest to

breath in the

life from life

I create with ease.

My hands ache

to create that

which has been

unseen.

Even if it

never is seen.

I sculpt that

which before

was only a image

in my mind's eye.

The finished result

can usually make

me cry.

Finally he arrives

the man I left behind

his face smoother

than I have ever

seen before.

I loved him

but I could take

no more.

Another bust

added to my

collection

perfectly formed

after a lengthy

inspection.

I created this!

I poured over it

with hunger and

sweat and tears,

now my masterpiece

is finally here.

_______________________________________

Thanks for reading! - Sam