Richard Newman

Madonna with Tattooed Face

Oh, let her bare her breast in the public square,

that bit of skin not inked. Inside the fountain

bare naked naiads laugh and do not care.

Suckling her child, she can’t be unaware

of gawkers bundled up against the forbidden,

but let her bare her breast in the public square.

Her piercings glint in morning sun, her hair

like black steeples, shards of obsidian.

Pubescent naiads laugh and do not care.

Her tattooed face is an angry mask she wears

to keep her tenderness and kindness hidden,

so let her bare her breast in the public square.

Her black rose, daggers, and winged demons scare

tourists—self-mutilation stinks of sin!

The mold-rashed naiads have more urgent cares.

Let her have this moment, a suckled prayer—

a child, the best means to self-oblivion—

and let her bare her breast in the public square

where ancient naiads laugh and do not care.

Richard Newman is the author of four books of poetry, most recently Blues at the End of the World. His work has appeared in Best American Poetry, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Literary Matters, Poetry East, Rattle, Tar River Poetry, and many other magazines and anthologies.