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by wildewhatever
  • July 21, 2009
  • Poetry
  • Other

I see a lady shaped like me
Withering at the other side of the fountain,
which is, for the moment, a tranquil liquid life.
She is at first petite, this lady is,
but she shrivels between the bows made
by her own shadows
and the shadow of the statue above us
until she is no more but
perhaps, a bubble of non-fading memories.

Comments & reviews · 2
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wildewhatever Comment
wildewhatever commented · Thu Jul 23, 2009 3:01 pm

thanks:)

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jimishine Review
jimishine wrote a review · Tue Jul 21, 2009 1:33 pm

I think this piece is great.

...lady shaped like me/Withering at the other side of the fountain


An isolated moment in time where the speaker witnesses a metamorphosis.

until she is no more but/perhaps, a bubble of non-fading memories


The lady is a reflection of the speaker, maybe her past self?
What is the statue all about? Is it because "She is at first petite" ?

The poem is so elusive, Well Done :)



Perfection is lots of little things done well.
— Marco Pierre White