Thank you @Seán Griffin for the beautiful poem, it capture the sculpture’s soul.
I hope to see soon this poem displayed @the Ormeau Library beside the sculpture!
I catch her often,
gathered within
her makeshift bower;
hollow figure in reverie,
unmindful of intrusion.
Features, unfinished,
undefined:
a splintered identity
still hold some
sense of self.
Her left hand, her only hand,
clasping an open book;
her face engaged
in reading;
held captive
by undiscovered words.
Her body, what’s left of it,
inclines forward
connecting with the tome
as she immerses
herself
into another state.
On her shoulder,
a silent blackbird slants,
echoing her gaze,
perusing the cryptic page
in search of meaning.
Faltering leaves now fall
about her
from a pendent elm;
languid autumnal
shower
of
flaming russet.
The mesmerising page,
unturned,
carries her to a place
where an
incomplete woman
is made
whole.
