The Maiden with Wrought Iron Soul

 

She leans against the hard concrete wall, gray on gray, like a stone angel carved from the hardness of the city. The hard white lights of night glint off a finely chiseled cheek, high and proud, and spark from eyes dark and sharp as flint. Stepping forward, she flows like a river into the shadows, lean and gleaming. Not a move is wasted; not even a breath. Headlights cast bright bars across her body as she walks. For all the curves, there is little that seems soft. And yet, a hand might admire those curves as a craftsman caresses the fine hard lines of a well-made blade. She walks slowly, confident in her purpose and sure in her step, aware of the warnings carried on the wind. As she glides past the tall spires of a wrought iron fence, she smiles, trailing her fingers over the metal. Her back is straight, her head high, held erect from within by a wrought iron soul.

2003 Sonja Torres                                            

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