You already have an idea what she looks like.
Her posture is as slanted as a mountainside,
while her hands lay before her crossed at the wrists,
her arms shaping an oblong oval to pool her tears.
Her head is also hanging low, her black hair
creating a shroud around her face.
You think you can see through it like funeral lace,
but there’s no light to be gleamed from her eyes,
so it all remains a point of contention for art historians.
You do know what face she’s making under there,
even if it won’t be visible on the canvas.
You’ve seen that face many times before.
It’s usually only granted to a staticky television screen or
to a smudge on the kitchen wall, but you’ve seen it enough
that you could recreate it while blindfolded.
As you begin to sketch her out, you probably have to wonder
if this painting is all she’ll ever be to you, to herself, to the world.
You’re sure that once the art goes public and
the praise and criticism is thrown at you like baseballs over a high fence,
others will ask you what she means, why she’s like that.
You know you don’t have an answer.
You forgot to ask her while she was alive,
so this will have to be your best approximation.
Title comes from a riff from the Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode Quest of the Delta
Knights.
Alex Carrigan (he/him) is a Pushcart-nominated editor, poet, and critic from Alexandria, VA. He is the author of Now Let’s Get Brunch (Querencia Press, 2023) and May All Our Pain Be Champagne (Alien Buddha Press, 2022). He has appeared in SoFloPoJo, Cotton Xenomorph, Bullshit Lit, and more. Visit carriganak.wordpress.com or follow him on Twitter @carriganak for more info.