Carol Lynne Knight
paint me as a picasso,
fractured & faceted
in prussian blues,
astride a freakish horse,
his fishes swimming
at my feet, paint
a war-torn me,
born in my parents’ dreams
of a life together after a world war,
after monsoons & kamikazes,
mud & redacted love letters.
paint a shattered image,
shards of blue,
my small rebellions.
paint me with sable brushes,
filmy washes of striated sky,
an intricate tattoo, delicate ink to tell
a fractured story — my memento.
a diagram of pain & metal,
scars called out with tiny yellow arrows.
daggering the paper,
a ragged wound, a caustic hue —
the healing, mon amour.
when I am flat, & paper, so thin,
outlines definite, but colorless.
lift your brush to the areola —
wash of sienna, wash of blue.
my body has no blood, no beauty,
not even terror. I could be a doormat
shut inside a sagging shed.
bring this incomplete face into focus,
into the spectrum of flesh. the press
of your brush creates a fever, a blush.
color me when memory is a corner
folded down to mark the page,
even when I am stacked on a shelf,
edges acidic & yellowing — trace my
lips as if they could kiss, mi amor.