And playing the role of herself, Ren Gay
I recast myself again and again in silver,
in bronze, in flaking gold leaf.
To be someone,
stained glass light coloring in white space.
To paint a canvas that isn't blank but inch-thick
alternating layers of gesso and oil paint.
Let me be the gleaming Fordite,
polished run off renamed treasure.
I hope I've grown familiar enough with this reflection that I am wizened by it.
A crone long before I have begun to untangle my maiden's braid.
Crescendo of desire, a cacophony from years of hidden cans
fall from the ceiling and crash,
metal against metal,
and yes we are sorry for the very sound.
Beneath my flesh is bucket after bucket of homemade paper mache,
salt, flour and water still slightly warm from the basement
I pull the unleavened bread dough off with my teeth
and still it multiplies.
Every story gets an ending and I need to watch my own in
omniscient third person dissociation.
A button sewn back on again and again,
thread of sinew catgut sings like the vibrato of bowstring
after the release of the arrow in this graying evening.
Ren Gay is a Pushcart nominated poet and artist from Fargo, North Dakota. Her work has appeared in journals such as Anti-Heroin Chic, The Laurel Review, Qu Literary, Ghost City Review, Gramma Poetry, FreezeRay Poetry, Persephone's Daughters, and others as well as the anthology What Keeps Us Here.