Golden Buddha Statue – a poem by Ellen Orr

Golden Buddha Statue


Of course they dropped him: five tons
of statue, plaster, colored glass. 
Siddhartha fell. The stucco chipped, 

and gold shone through, like sun 
through clouds. Disrobed, his outer casing gone

after centuries of wear, protection.
Two hundred years of armor, chiseled away 
for the viewing pleasure of those dazzled by shiny things.

My teacher says we are all gold encased 
by persona. Can we love ourselves and each other 
as if we are all secretly solid gold? I want to love the plaster.

Ellen Orr is a teacher and writer currently based in Texas.