Sculpting the Black Queen

The Queen woke up as

I was adding a bulbous earring.

“You have changed me completely,” she scolded.

“I do not recognize myself.”

“Gone is my patrician nose

And my delightful androgyny

And the angular cut of my cheekbone.

Why?”

I shrugged.

“You are more You now.

You have defined eyes

And the innate regality of a survivor

And the hint of a smile

That sees you through the worst.

You are more real.”

She made me widen her eyes

And put a teardrop near the right lacrimal duct.

But of course when I did that

I had to do a dozen other things.

“You are making me more homely,” she complained.

“No. I am sculpting you, and you are sculpting me

Just as much. You are uniquely lovely

And your daughters will be lovelier still.”

This silenced her

And soon I was finished.