Woman of Glass
I saw her sisters blown in the heat of a Venetian furnace
Before choosing her from the adjacent gift shop.
She was tall, elegant and slender
And cost me more lira than I could afford,
But mum would be pleased. This woman of glass had real class.
I knew she would hold pride of place on our sideboard,
Her sleek, transparent figure marbled with myriad streaks of red
Before choosing her from the adjacent gift shop.
She was tall, elegant and slender
And cost me more lira than I could afford,
But mum would be pleased. This woman of glass had real class.
I knew she would hold pride of place on our sideboard,
Her sleek, transparent figure marbled with myriad streaks of red
And bubbles of trapped air would be a striking contrast
To the other ornaments all brought back from my school trips.
There was the miniature of Rodin's kiss in cheap, imitation marble
Which could never look as smooth as real Venetian glass
And a windmill that played "Tulips from Amsterdam"
Not to mention the tacky regiment of plastic-encased dolls
My father collected. Mere kitsch in comparison.
I lovingly wrapped the woman of glass inside a thick sock
And for extra protection put her inside one of my plimsolls
In the middle of my suitcase.
And for extra protection put her inside one of my plimsolls
In the middle of my suitcase.
Mum loved the glass woman too.
She graced the sideboard for many years.
Mum would often quote Keats:
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
...But not if it's made of glass.
She graced the sideboard for many years.
Mum would often quote Keats:
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever."
...But not if it's made of glass.
One day dad stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The glass woman toppled over the edge of the sideboard
Creating an instant crazy-paving of the glazed surface below
It all looked like a very bad ice-skating accident.
It seemed to me that the streaks of red colouringWould ooze from her neck onto the shattered glass panel
Like real blood. Her decapitated body remained there
While her head rolled and dropped silently to the carpet.
The glass woman toppled over the edge of the sideboard
Creating an instant crazy-paving of the glazed surface below
It all looked like a very bad ice-skating accident.
It seemed to me that the streaks of red colouringWould ooze from her neck onto the shattered glass panel
Like real blood. Her decapitated body remained there
While her head rolled and dropped silently to the carpet.
I tried to stick her head back on with Araldite.
But the magic had gone and she never looked the same.
Several years later she lost both arms in a similar scenario
We called her "Venus De Milo" after that.
Eventually,not having the heart to throw her in the bin
She ended up in the jumble bag along with the windmill
That by now had lost its tune and most of its sails,
And Rodin's sculpture that had become pitted and rough
When Mum tried to scrub it clean from years of Dad's smoking.
*But the magic had gone and she never looked the same.
Several years later she lost both arms in a similar scenario
We called her "Venus De Milo" after that.
Eventually,not having the heart to throw her in the bin
She ended up in the jumble bag along with the windmill
That by now had lost its tune and most of its sails,
And Rodin's sculpture that had become pitted and rough
When Mum tried to scrub it clean from years of Dad's smoking.
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