shoots. Roots

Ekphrastic response to Apollo and Daphne (sculpture) by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1625) 

Sculpture of Apollo and Daphne by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1625). Picture by Mateus Campos Felipe.

Her eye rolls

to the limit of the

socket. A curl kisses

the slope of her

brow. Bernini’s too

smoothed it so

that the museum

lights give it the sheen

of a peeled egg. I tumble

down her liquid mane

to the hot gaze of

her pursuer. His iris

crater-like. His face

so moderate, so serene

it is angelic. It is empty

in its angelicness. How

slender his youthful

physique, how un-

threatening. Oh darling

he couldn’t hurt a blade

of grass. Why

does

she

scream. Isn’t she free

of him? As a child I thought

I read a version of

the myth, where

Artemis releases her

from her mortal body.

Woman to

woman, goddess

to nymph. Now I learn

it is her father who began

the metamorphosis. It

was Cupid in a contest

of male pride who

sank her heart

with lead. Her

fingers bleed

skyward with new

shoots. Roots from her

toenails drag with

grotesque detail back

to earth. Bernini

so lovingly scrapes

the cold border where

her flesh meets bark, and

the perfect wet

opening of her

mouth. Her

voice rattles

in

my

throat. The root

of Apollo’s name is

destroyer and he

will not leave

off on account

of the woman being

a tree. He

haloes himself with

her fingertips and calls it

victory. He fells her

bark-body for burning

at the altar. Alter

her shape however she

will she will not

escape

the crater of his

moderate, serene

regard.