LAURIE HELLER

THE FIRST VENUS

You wake up

after 30,000 years

even though your gait is spindly,

your frail feet

dissolved by time,

somehow you hobble

to the Uffizi gallery

to see your daughter

born during your long sleep

Floating, upright,

on a shell

delicately brushed

in velvet colors

her hair so orange

it jogs your memory

You can not transcend

The ochre of your stone

But were you once painted?

Were you a redhead too?

Have you forgotten

who you are

during your long sleep?

You touch her

finger wide

trying to trace

the contours of your essence

in her countenance