The Versions of Me

Girl with the Pearl Earring.

Girl with the Pearl Earring.

there’s a silent art

to the versions of me

that pass like sunlight,

like seasons ,

like cigarette ashes


in the same speckled mirror,

in the same dim hallway,

in the smallest pane of glass

I am Picasso

a hurricane of eyes and mouth


in the night I am a fixture of Dali

draped over my surroundings

like cheap linen,

an examination of angles

and a questionable experience


on Sunday afternoons I am Van Gogh,

all honest emotion

and rough imagination,

blurred lines on canvas

beaming with coffee rings


but sometimes, oh sometimes

I am Vermeer’s girl;

that pearl swings from my

ear like the Queen of England

and suddenly I am romance in moonlight


I keep all of my selves

upon the wall with rusted nails

like antiques in a backwoods shop,

where I am beautiful in hiding

between wool hats and brass knobs


sift delicately through the versions of me,

be careful of rough edges,

think deeply of history and life,

long for the meaning,

sit me above the fireplace.


Filed under Uncategorized, Writing

9 responses to “The Versions of Me

  1. You’re Norman Rockwell sometimes – admit it.

  2. Maybe it’s another category, but I think sometimes you are flash-photography, motion in blur, flashing forward towards the past…
    (Is that too weird? It just came to me, reading your poem.)

  3. You are all that and more.

    Good to see you!

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