Untitled 1

Ekphrastic poem in response to Amy Sherald’s Sometime The King Is A Woman

I was afraid this would happen.

That I would see myself again.

I was afraid I would be confronted,

but not instantly.

I even went the wrong way,

And still, there she was.

If I could capture the second before and after I saw her in two words, they would be,

“Oh God”

Dread and hope all wrapped up in one second.

In a sea of splendid work, she stood alone,

Just staring at me.

She looked just like me.

Smug look

Beautifully distinct features

Statement earrings

Natural hair she probably spent hours contemplating

Hips arranged slightly to one side.

Me.

It was like looking in a mirror.

No distractions, just me.

No scene, just me

No ensemble, no co-stars, just me.

Just me against the most shocking pink.

Was it me?

I was always looking to tell other people’s stories.

See, if I did it well enough, there’d be no time to talk about me.

I was so clever about it.

I could prepare a temple for anyone.

Eyes closed, head bowed, and you’d be convinced my tongue was my heart.

I was so good at it,

until I was not.

Until I had nothing left to say.

About anyone, about any thing.

Just me.

I went the wrong way, and she was still there.

She told me to stand up straight,

Back to the temple and turn the tables over. 

Maybe it wasn’t a smug look I saw,

Maybe it was something else.

She looked sure. I was never that.

She had an air about her.

An air you’d want to breathe in,

And hold

And breathe out.

Yes, she was who I want to be.