When I first took shape I had no eyes.
I soon came to see: you, working
First heavy-handed with mallet and chisels
Crying with the pain of sculpting such strength.
My over-large ears rang to the chime of ever softer strikes,
Thrilled to your inexhaustible patience with me
As sand and water tickled my rough edges away.
Until finally, sitting, I stood for Sesostris.

Pulled down and smothered I lay
I stand again. Where is Sesostris?

I hear not priests but clamour
I smell not Nile-rot but bleach
I see time arrested behind glass
The zipper of a child’s jacket tinkles against my foot

It is said Osiris was rendered.
His body torn. His insides scattered.
This was a kindness by brother Set
Making Osiris greater still in Kemet.
Yet. Sesostris, Set, Osiris, Kemet are gone.
What do I stand for?