- By Mira Palmer (she/her)
- Art “Frames” by Kate Lewis (they/them)
If it wasn’t for the new exhibit,
she never would’ve known he existed.
In an ivory frame on the opposite side
of the hall,
with his hard lines and charcoal cheeks,
she couldn’t help but gawk.
Pouted lip, arched back,
all she wanted was his attention,
but his damn profile stayed fixed.
She would have done a backflip,
a whole-ass vault routine,
anything to turn his head.
But she was rather limited in mobility;
Holofernes wriggled like a ragfish,
beneath her bloody blade.
Acutely aware of herself and her actions:
Does this chiaroscuro make me look fat?
Oh my god! I’m mid-murder. He must think I’m
fucking crazy
But then again, men like crazy…right?
Wrong.
Drawn 100 years prior to the
Renaissance, the new art piece had lived
long enough to know better than to fuck
with Judith.
