Maman et Papa (c. 1965)
The Portrait
I stare at the picture
of this man
I've never met.
There is something
in the eyes,
familiar.
I swear we have
met some time before.
I swear that his gaze
is something
I've drawn before –
or he has drawn me.
Sometimes
in the dark of night
I wonder which one
envisioned the other first.
The cant of his head,
the pools of his eyes,
are things I've
inherited without
lessons.
What am I to do?
pictures to be drawn,
poems to be written.
I'm a triangulation,
an extrapolation of him,
and the pretty woman
at his side.
Some kind of
strange prodigy;
a twist in reality,
a twist in sobriety.
(9 October 2006)
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