Villamayor Monjarín
Every once in a while, I can make out the words of the Sculptor as He whispers in my ear. For three days, He has been kneading the clay of my body, He slowly adds clay of the Earth to my shoes, to my clothes. The weight slows my gate and focuses my energy.
This third day He moved from my feet up. As water poured from the sky, my legs became the base for a papier maché sculpture. The Scultpor confidentlt placed saturated strips of paper on my thighs and shins. Layer after layer, He replicated the contours of the long leg muscles. The capillary action of the paper allowed the Sculptor to find every crevice between my hips and the soles of my feet.
For an hour, I carried nearly two extra pounds of water weight. And then, I was dry.
This third day He moved from my feet up. As water poured from the sky, my legs became the base for a papier maché sculpture. The Scultpor confidentlt placed saturated strips of paper on my thighs and shins. Layer after layer, He replicated the contours of the long leg muscles. The capillary action of the paper allowed the Sculptor to find every crevice between my hips and the soles of my feet.
For an hour, I carried nearly two extra pounds of water weight. And then, I was dry.
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