Dear creator,
holding the hammer,
are you looking for a
human being under
this marble?

Break off my arm,
you won’t find blood
but jagged alabaster.
Crack my chest,
you won’t find a heart
inside this dense mass.
Behead me,
and watch the pieces
litter the floor.

Yes, I disappoint you.
You gave me your reflection
to gaze upon, to adore,
but now you despise me.
Don’t, dear creator.

Clutch my scalp,
finger my chiseled hair,
and pull it toward you.
Kiss my lips,
and let the cold marble
flesh chill your soul.
Tell me secrets
that will never come,
wait for the breath.

But no blood flows
through these veins.
I don’t live for you.
I’m only here to remind you
I am not your friend.

So touch me, strike me,
my skin can’t feel
the caress of your hand
or the cutting of your chisel.

 

Zetetic separator

—Christopher Iacono lives with his wife and son in Massachusetts. Besides writing fiction and poetry, he has written book reviews for Three Percent, Entropy Magazine, and the Neglected Books Page. When he is not writing, he copyedits and proofreads marketing materials.

2 Responses

  1. Charles Bane
    at · Reply

    Brilliant work.

  2. csheapoet
    at · Reply

    Greatly enjoyed.

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