Lady With Ankh-Cross
Antinoopolis, c. 193-235 A.D.
From where you lie, a canvas
on a far wall glows ochre—
encaustic ground, a mottled surface
smoothed over linen.
You hear the scrape of cauterium
spreading the warm custard
of beeswax, gum arabic, pigment.
Fayum painters blend fleshtone
from charcoal, rust hematite, yellow earth,
chalk, wine dregs dried to indigo.
As wax cools, a chill hovers.
Ptolemy rulers line temple walls, shroud
those they portray. Their black eyes
link with the living. The Lady
holds the Ankh-Cross in her left hand,
displays her right palm, making a sign—
Fare well or Stay there.
She may pull you from dead
middle of the room,
back arching, muscles taut,
you hear a lute string plucked.
Woman is Not Only
Landscape
Across the land,
women are pulled home
by thoughts of cooking
rice, corn, rye, wheat,
grains of peace. We could
be them and we are.