Mask of Marble

Her frown.

Sadness—

you’d think it permanent,

stapled to her lips like porcelain.

Chisel marks covering her skin,

wispy, black hair obscuring

her face

and melting like honey.

Moorish brown

with splashes of orange.

Her eyes,

like sandbags.

A smile

sunken into folds of a frown.

The corners of her mouth

bunching like curtains.

Her features

draped over her bones,

like laundry on a chair.

She catches herself in her hands,

spilling tears

that melt like chocolate

in the midsummer night.

Me,

I remember you best in flesh,

clothed in black,

sitting,

smiling.

Nicholas Stan ‘26

I made this piece inspired by a photo I took of a sculpture I saw in the house of Romania's former dictator, Nicolae Ceaușescu. I looked at her as if she had worked in the house, and following the end of Ceaușescu's reign. She now had nowhere to turn and was left behind, alone.