Ekphrasis

The gorgeous honey beckons me to walk over to her. She sits on her pedestal and waits for people to be captured by her beauty. My eyes fall straight to her enticing face and then to her body.

Her silky skin has no sheen and her skin is yellowish, worn and imperfect. Small scars dance across her face and body, perhaps from rough handling, but she is no less appetizing.

My eyes wander around her frame and on to her flat, round face again. The shape of her body is so perfectly round. Her figure is so ample and yet tight.

Droplets of color scatter around the border of her face, makeup of all different colors: reds, greens, blues, oranges, whites, and purples. It fits the beauty lying underneath. The makeup is a little messy and uneven. It is focused so attentively on the right side, each drop of color placed in the exact right position. The left side is arranged more haphazardly, closer to her lips. The nonsymmetric designs of her face in no way makes her any less desirable.

What could lie within? I can only dream of what is inside of her. Her outside shows no indication of the sweet mystery which is held beneath the surface, a mystery that I would love to solve.

Her lips speak to me. They are light pink, slightly chapped from the dryness of the air. They look so sweet and I would love nothing more than to taste them, but the words she speaks with those lips stop me in my tracks.

“Don’t call me honey,” she says, the words and letters slurred and connected.

She is beautiful, she is sweet, yet she is feisty. She is sugar and spice. She emanates power. Her words push me away from the fantasy of her body and brings my attention fully to her mind.

I’d been calling her ‘honey’ since the moment I looked at her, but I am finding a new respect for her. She does not want to be called ‘honey’. She does not want to be commented on for her body. All she wants is for those to see her mind, no matter how delicious she looks.

(Tang, Like Sugar Exhibit, 3/3/19; The Sweet Feminist by Becca Rea-Holloway)