Today I have been fleetingly immortalised;

Unlike so many plaster molds.

I’m there, breathing from the canvas

Or staring into a charcoal space on paper:

Just a collection of boxes and shadow-shapes.

But it’s me, trapped , trying to say something

Through the artist’s skill.

To be left to dry and remain,

Or scraped back to start again.

Jamie Zubairi by Phoebe