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audio: Visage
audio of Leslie Schultz's poem, Visage

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Leslie Schultz



        for W.S., in response

      In me you see the beauty of a flower
      that, once admired, withers in the vase;
      whose dewy blush is dimmed each passing hour,
      whose rouge sets florid on a wrinkled face.

      In me you see an artful setting sun
      whose colors cling to venoms in the air;
      a moment trembling, before the light is done,
      that kisses dust and makes the dust seem fair.

      My face must seem the rising of a moon,
      a profile gaunt and silver set in black,
      a cameo of stained and carved bone,
      a mask whose features have begun to crack.

      Look closely at the clench of futile rage:
      I’m now a woman of a certain age.