Ekphrastic! And I can’t spell, especially French.
Usually I object to woman as object
but for a couple hundred yearS
she’s stood gazing adoringly
at Daguerre’s bust, uplifted
arms mid-drape and full of laurel
and I pity her, her whole life
watching his dark face stare
somewhere else.
Perhaps I could pity him
were he more than mind,
a solid chest or fine ass
on display as much as she.
But it’s her naked back,
the low cut of her robes
that greets the viewer,
not the world or this man’s eyebrows.
Pity me, pity you,
for we echo her pose.
“Full of laurel” reminds me of that poor nymph who tried to run away from Apollo. And echo reminds me of another ill-fated lass. Don’t know if you did those on purpose, but both add to the sense of trappedness I get from this.
I’m so glad you saw that! Actually, no, there just really was something that looked like laurel as part of the statue. But that means it has that sneaky, actual poem quality!