I ache to press my fingers into her flesh,
insert them under her skin and grab
fistfuls of the yellow fat cells pulsating beneath.
My nerve-endings tingle with anticipation –
I imagine blood, sinews and cartilage slithering over my hands.
Some call her voluptuous
She has been labelled curvaceous in her time –
her complexion has been admired,
compliments have been made about her chestnut hair
and how it gleams like conkers in the autumn sun.
Most people skirt around that single-syllabled utterance – fat.
It is as if the very word itself is a crime,
as if it should be expunged from the dictionary.
I do not criticise,
do not imagine barbs where none exist.
No, I rejoice in her size,
after all, I am an artist,
an admirer of the human form in all its variations.
My only sorrow is, that in common with them all,
she cannot be moulded.
She is not clay.
I am saddened that she too, will not outlive my attentions.
Perhaps, in the future, there will be such a survivor.
All I want is for each of them to be a little bit better than they already are.
Is that too much too ask?
Tonight on dVerse Poetics, Lillian is inviting us to write with a sculpture, or sculptor in mind. Have a conversation with your sculpture, give us your back story, turn and turn again, tell the story from whatever angle you choose, be the sculpture coming to life or the model being used as inspiration. What a wonderful idea, Lillian!
Hmm… my sculptor is a little (a lot!) sinister. I don’t know where he came from, all I know is, I wouldn’t want to be one of his models!
I hope you enjoy (if you can bear it!). I’m sure other entries will be much more light-hearted than mine, so please, do head on over to the dVerse pub, ask the friendly barkeep to pour you a cold one, and get reading (and why not take part?)!
Freya Writes... 
Oh my!!!! Oh my!!!!! This is quite amazing — this artist delves into his work indeed. But I’m also taken with the idea of curves and largesse — isn’t it interesting that medieval artists comprehended beauty in just this way? Sadly, today’s media values stick-thin so much that photoshopping is done as a matter of fact — I think I prefer the medieval view of beauty — although perhaps not this artist! 🙂 Very well done!
Thank you so much, Lillian, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I agree, the medieval view of beauty is much more accepting of women that aren’t sticks (and yes, I am more Reubenesque than today’s view deems acceptable). This sculptor wouldn’t be my choice though 😉
Striking first person poem–sinister but so much beauty in between the lines.
Thank you, Victoria 🙂
There’s certainly a dark edge to this, Freya. I enjoyed the voice in it very much.
I tend to hover around the dark side 😉
Thank you!
Amazed how you got into the sculptor’s head. The imagery draws the reader in
Thank you so much! 🙂
I have always wondered what the sculptor does to the model, in a way I think we had a similar idea with our poems today.
I think we did, Bjorn! Thank you for taking the time to read and write.
Love the dark and enticing edge to your poem Freya 🙂 Gorgeous write.
Lots of love,
Sanaa
Thank you so much, Sanaa!
I really went to the dark side with this macabre piece, where the sculptor is actually both an artist & a killer, focusing on plus size women. I keyed into the line /I imagine blood, sine,& cartilage slithering over my hands./.
I’m glad you ‘enjoyed’ it! Thank you for reading and commenting, Glenn.
Definitely would not want to be a model for this sculptor’s artistry. But really enjoyed the perspective that you took up and did so well with…wonderful!
Thank you so much!
I like the tribute to the artist Freya:
after all, I am an artist,
an admirer of the human form in all its variations.
Thank you, Grace.
Oh my gosh! Powerful and I’m wondering where the statue was located.
Thank you, Nan. The statue in the photo is outside the British Library in London. It’s an amazing archive and runs some fascinating exhibitions as well.
Oh my, the poem itself is curvaceous! I felt the darkness of the sculptor in the words:
‘My only sorrow is, that in common with them all,
she cannot be moulded.
She is not clay.’
I’d love to know what happened to ‘them all’.
I’m glad you ‘enjoyed’ it! I think it’s better not knowing their fate…
wonderful to know the sculptor’s mind as he immerses into his work…a powerful write…
Thank you, Sumana!
To each his own…body type I mean…you made this ring with animal vigor and a dark side that is quite unsettling but it works so well!
To each his own, absolutely! Thank you for your lovely comment 🙂
Each sculpture tells its own story and this one is intriguing! This has so much heart and history. Well done, Freya!
Thank you so much, Walt.
Creepy. What is he carving? Stone or flesh?
I shall leave it to your imagination 😉
This was well told and an intriguing piece smoothly done~
Thank you, Maria!
I have enjoyed the many directions that this prompt has taken and yours is quite unique. Dark but it definitely kept my attention!
Thank you, Mish. I do tend to inhabit the shadows 😉
Love sculpture and quickly
arrive at inspiration in this
prompt.. seeing the visual
iMage bEfore the text
of poetry.. and the
first thing that
caught mY
eYe is what
Looks like
an architecture
tool.. that one that
makes sacred geometry
and even helps build
the pyramids so
this became
a rather
husky
male for
me with thick
South American… perhaps..
Mayan hair.. maybe now an ode
to historical masonry2.. but anyway..
i never thought of a heavy woman at
first as those hands look like mason hands
to me.. but sure.. my Grandmother who picked
cotton to raise her sisters.. looked very much like
that too.. breaking gender barriers wearing pants..
selling car parts during World War II.. Rosie the
Riveter and all of that.. wHere statued pre-
conceived notions of gender fall to
duSt oF what
is necessary
whatever it may
be to thrive alive.
anyway.. it’s what’s
inside that counts.. i
didn’t love my Grandma
any less for her man size
hands that were even bigger
than mine.. she at 80 and me
at 23.. i wondered when i would
get as big and strong as grandma..
and yeah.. sure.. iT finAlly happened
for me too.. at 53.. slow bloomers and all..
and truly the greaTest strength i gained was
what she had inside.. in struggle for survival..
tuFF Love realized by me FinAlly iN 50’s Strong..:)
Your grandmother sounds wonderful! I would have loved to have met her! Such a pioneer 🙂
Hi.. Freya..
Thanks so much
For the kind
Words.. My
Friend..:)