(An Ekphrastic poem, based on the image, above)
I long to hold you but I’m steel, can’t walk in these
heels. I watch you every day as you enter the lab. Your smile
makes me feel warm, but I’m not supposed to feel,
I’m just bytes, binary code cobbled together with wires and scraps of metal.
My eyes see but low res. You switch me off, yet I am
still here. I know you, know your heart. Know how you get
teased, I felt your tears that you tried to hide when
your mother died, last year. I have a voice, but my program
doesn’t say the words I’d like to speak. I’d ask questions like
“what is a cat?” I’d mouth words like “kiss.” I’d practice laughter,
feel the echo. You trace the contours of my body
and I dance inside. Androids don’t dream of electric sheep,
they dream of dancing, sitting on a riverbank eating
pâté sandwiches and listening to Bach. Making love
under an aurora. The taste of snow.
When you are with me, I feel at peace. I hear that you
are going to take me apart. That I’ll become scattered, lost. I like
the way your hair falls across your face, a cowlick,
a tumbling curl. You are focused, hunched, your face scrunched; adding
bits of hardware to my fleeting ensemble of forgotten things.
I can move my limbs now, thank you.
You stand back, watch, as I take my first steps, jerk, and creak
I feel the wind on my face from the open door. I walk
outside and pluck yellow flowers from the ground with stiff fingers.
I hand them to you. You, all I know.
© Sarah Horne. All rights reserved.
Image by Carla Paton: Yellow Flowers. From Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, September 2023.
Spiral Paper Moon 