Four Apologies to Ecce Homo: A Glosa, by Karin Wraley Barbee

right to left: Ecco Homo, by Elías García Martínez (Spain). 1930; Attempted restoration by Cecilia Giménez (Spain). 2011.

Four Apologies to Ecce Homo: A Glosa

The paint absorbed into the damp
I started it, then I went on holiday
I was only trying to do a good thing
Return it to its former glory
-- Cecilia Gimenez

I started at your crown, Lord.  
Then my brush dabbed at your brow.
Cecilia, you said. My eyes. My eyes.
And I listened, your gaze too distant,
I made it right. When the newsmen
Asked me, I explained. There I was,
In the afternoon. There was no one else.
But you are not an easy canvas.
I’m sure you understand, Lord.
The paint absorbed into the damp

Let me explain, Lord.
Garcia spoke to me from these walls,
Even today, he speaks
His voice even louder
Still. I hear him, Lord.
Like my children, I delivered you
In a hot mess of earth and pigment
I lost my way
When I touched the face
I started it, then I went on holiday

Behold, I took you in my aged hands,
Flaking and faded, we were
Worn thin and pale.
My knees buckled as I stood
Exhausted, slacks wet with paint.
My Lord. White static of years,
No one else
Would run her thumb
Along our temple
I was only trying to do a good thing.

Christ, your face has never
Looked more alive!
You are awake again. A beast
Of wide eyes. They might be
Right. You are an animal
Of awful flesh. Like me.
And when my body cracks and peels
Falls apart
Restore it, Lord.
Return it to its former glory.

Karin Wraley Barbee
​
A native of Ohio, Karin Wraley Barbee currently teaches at Siena Heights University. She lives with her husband and two children in Tecumseh, Michigan. Her work has appeared in Natural Bridge, Swerve, Fjords Review, Columbia Review, Fiction Southeast, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Diagram, Whiskey Island, Found Poetry Review, and Sugar House Review. More work is forthcoming in Packingtown Review.