MODEL
(Poem by Wendy Howe)
see also the french version



She used to lean
against the blue cushions
of a summer sky

baring her thoughts
to the wind.

Branches curved
into the satin arch
of leaves

and she dreamed
of her own feet

bridging the stage
with the dance steps
of Giselle.

She was small then
and could twist

the tape measure round
her body

like a long thread
trailing the height
of its needle.

With time, she grew
emulating the willow

and now she swirls
into the ease of a chair

relaxed from a tall walk
down the runway.

Wrapped in memory,
her forehead turns

the evening shy
with the pale light
of an ingenue.

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