Why not ask
if her quizzical smile,
aloof plain timeless,
is not a blade, pointed
at the one who dares attempt to capture her?
The so-called “master” who speaks
to the canvas as if she were not in the room. Perhaps,
she has never had much of a poker face. She sits,
sucks on disdain like a cough drop, wishes
for a veil. One so modern it’s invisible. Geometric embroidery
a quantum portal spun, whispered into lace.
Lisa Pegram is a Washington, DC native writer and educator. Author of Cracked Calabash (Central Square Press) and a Larry Neal Writers’ Award finalist, her poetry and essays have been published in anthologies by Random House and Black Classic Press, and magazines such as L’Officiel and Atlas Obscura, among others. She served as DC WritersCorps program director for a decade and has taught a love for reading and writing at every level from elementary school to postgraduate. Lisa has an MFA in Creative Writing, and an Executive Certification in Arts & Culture Strategies from UPenn. She is currently based on St. Maarten where she works remotely in the US as a literary publicist and acquisitions editor.
