THE BRONZE HUNTRESS
fine, faintly flickering face,
a goddess’ gilded grimace;
eyes sharp, slightly squinting,
lips pursed, concentrating;
arms strained, straight, steady,
inch by inch, pulling in the cord,
pushing away at the sturdy bow
that bends so slowly in, arched.
deft fingers firmly clasp,
but ever so lithely guide
the lethal arrow’s feather
past her cheek near the ear;
pulls hard, stretches taut
and tense the bare bowstring,
impatiently anticipating,
savoring an inner, aching thrill;
waiting for just the right time,
but waiting forever, it seems;
the prized prey, still out there,
feeding freely on freedom still;
her destiny, chiseled, shaped
by her sculptor’s whiffling whim,
is to forever take a careful aim,
but never to make the final kill !
Remarks from the author, Rom Naces:
It’s kind of hazy now, but it must have been during a summer workshop, decades ago.. our poet laureate professor, LP Deriada, encouraged each one of us to write lines about a glossy picture from a magazine clipping..a bronze or brass statue of a maiden-goddess archer aiming at a wild boar..she looked like the late farrah, i never found out, but she must have been its model..let me share these decades-old lines with you, my dear friends.
