[return to Contents Page] [A Tribute Page for Hortensia Anderson]
Remains of Myself
The slab of Botticino Classico has a pale blush.
It is almost golden, glowing in the early sun...
He lifts the sheet, revealing a reclining woman.
I stroke the stone folds of my nude self.
Later, in the studio, I find a dark burlap sack.
Leftover marble chips have been swept into it.
It is as if I have come upon lost remains of myself –
how I yearn to keep them.
rose moon –
the curved darkness