Poem

"Two Sitting Figures - New Orleans, LA"

This sculpture before me.
This thing I can name.
This black copper
—industrial, geometrical, anonymous.

Two bodies, I think.
A woman and man, I think.
A couple, I think.

The woman in peace.
Something about her legs, hushed before her.
Something about the way this face tilts away.

The man leans near.
Wants to hear.
Wants to say.

I want to ask if she is young or old.
(I can't tell.)
I want to ask if she's with child.
(I can't tell.)

Sculpture, your heads are those windows
built above doors.

Sculpture, your robes are stiff and stark.

Sculpture, does it really matter what you mean?

The pine needles gather at your toes.

This lizard takes to a shoulder,
soaking the heat.

And I take to this poem because
how else would I do it?