Faulty prophecies of misguided diagnoses
Froze her fluid essence,
Caught her in one of those moments
You and I pass over -
Every day. Silently.
Now, after two eternities and a half
When they put that frozen statue under scrutiny,
They mark the broad expanse of a battle-worn forehead.
The pool of black
Crystallized into a glittering scorn.
Two balls of fiery ice -
Medusa's paralyzing gaze.
They wrote her off -
No work of art, this sculpture.
She had mothered her ice age.
Her ice age had mothered her.
It was just one of her protean shapes
In which she got stuck.
Now - brushed clean, gilt-framed and hung up
Before the yellow eyes of critical aesthetes,
She belies her origins -
Of faulty prophecies and misguided diagnoses
In her own ice age.