Rodin’s Fallen Caryatid by Lindsay Bernal
She’s collapsing under her big stone:
woe, love, whatever. Vase, urn, bowl,
the cup made of hands at the brook
––what holds is hollow.
Does a child ever recover
from losing the vessel who bore her,
pushed her out of one watery world into this?
Is it an image of damnation?
A grave woman contorted,
knocked over. And yet
we see her grace, her goddess-
smooth curves yielding to the earth.
Is it the stone––what she holds—
or the weight of her hollow body that betrays her?
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