by Roselle Farr
My Venus de Milo
My mother’s thighs on a headless statue are draped in etched linen to hide the
place few enter; yet many may leave. Portal openings so close to one another they
almost touch. Might hold hands to halt all coming and going if they could reach
one another.
Somewhere in her groin, she knows she is not just a harbor in an endless giving
sea whose walls form caverns lit by Vagina, a constellation in the southern
hemisphere, and Uterus, the galaxy’s stellar nursery where star seeds burst forth
in spurts hard to predict.
Her nameless carved-out body leans to the left. Bare breasts off center—she can
do nothing about cracked nipples—the needy suck here. My lips raw from the
effort, I look for approval to a face now gone.
Karen Pierce Gonzalez’s writing has appeared in numerous publications including BluePepper, Pandemic Puzzle Poems, Postcard Poems and Prose, Potato Soup Journal, Timeworn Literary Journal, Tiny Thimble Magazine, and other publications. She facilitates creative writing workshops in the San Francisco Bay Area and is also a mixed-media assemblage artist.
Roselle Farr is a full time Business Analyst, in her spare time she is an amateur photographer, but has also started to explore the world of abstract painting. She loves being creative and a selection of her photos can be found at her Instagram page – rosellemarie_photos.