Papier-mâché

Sean Wilkening

If I were to draw you in one line
When I finally stopped my pen
Scribbling over the page

There you would be
Disconnected from everything,
A metropolitan skyline at sunset

Burning through paper clouds
Over bustling crowds
Below on the sidewalk.

If I were to paint you on canvas
You would never hang on museum walls
But you wouldn’t want that.

Your eyes blue like the space between
Tree branches. Your cheeks
On fire like autumn’s dusk

Blazing crimson through
Underbrush, so fervently no critic’s
Words could extinguish.

If I were to sculpt you in clay
I would change nothing,
Each curve glistening like sunlight

Reflecting off smooth concrete
Wet with morning dew.
Each strand of hair

Thinner than a spider’s web.
But I am no artist so I offer
Only words of paper mache.