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Stonework by Chris Clemens
Lady M invites me
to restore the
collection of statues
in her renowned garden,
and I’m elated.
For an apprentice sculptor,
this is a rare opportunity.
Sinuously-carved gates stand open.
“Hello?”
Crumbling men and women
punctuate the shrubbery:
howling, falling, attacking with spears.
Lips pursed for a kiss.
Beautiful statues,
despite the deterioration.
“Regretfully, repairing these
is beyond my skill.”
Faint hissing draws me deeper
into a clearing.
Medusa examines
a marbled giant,
her fingers twined
through writhing hair.
“Your skills aren’t required,” she declares.
“But your height is sufficient.
A little to the left, please.”
And she turns, smiling.