an ekphrastic poem

Gillian Anderson Winser London, 2018

Her silk white blouse is not
mere ornament; its icicle cream
sheen not mere vanity,
but a wet mirror

revealing our desire.

Her pearl knobs
for shoulders, hair
of vanilla lightning,
and face of feline architecture

all conspire to remind us
of the princes and queens
we’ve lost.

Open at the cuff, a pale wrist.
Not bloodless.

— Shannon Phillips

Photo: Winser London