After the rough stuff — hammer, chisel, rasp —
comes the part he takes most pleasure in:
surface work with files and emery stones,
smoothing Carrara marble till it shines.
Now shadows pool in hollows, dusky-soft,
while sunlight draws attention to the crests
of curves: the chubby center of a cheek,
a wing, a ringlet, anything convex;
and he's a fool, whoever says that boys
aren't rounded! From the nape of Cupid's neck
down to the dip in his adolescent back,
the sculptor runs a loving fingertip
as if to tease the god; and with a smile,
decides to let the model stay a while.
If you have any comments on this poem, Rose Kelleher would like to hear from you.