Your Portrait by J.J. Steinfeld

Poverty, by Picasso, detail. 1903.

Your Portrait

at the art gallery, mid-morning,
you stumble in
howling wind, driving rain
that much calculation, that little calling,
pay what you can
say what you must
naked and formerly naked thoughts
the paintings make more sense than your life
you are colourless, uncatalogued,
unsigned, unframed,
not part of a movement or a school
not engaged in madness or pain
not with muse or music of the soul
what will your passing mean
in a minute or a decade or so
what rages outside
weather and history and sad personal foibles
lovers with too many words
lovers approaching wordlessness
all this happening after you heard a voice
requesting justification and verification
for all those years and unsaid thoughts
you, a person without proper documents
without adequate scars or memories
of found and lost relatives
and friends of malformed loyalty
and half-forgotten exploits

there, a painting of you,
how can that be
it is mid-morning
you have entered here under duress
howling wind, driving rain,
the paint as dry as regret and guilt

an art expert nearby
expression of knowledge and cockiness:
“strange, I’ve never seen that portrait before,
time period ancient, colours modern,
what a peculiar amalgam
there is dispute over the artist
debate over authenticity
the signature blurred
yet it does capture something
of a past age’s anonymity and despair”

you turn from the painting,
annoyed with the smallness of the left eye
displeased with the faintness of the right eye
though the sad, forlorn mouth
is close to what you imagine yours 

outside, the skies have cleared
you are nearly dry
and you have enough for a coffee, maybe two

by J.J. Steinfeld

“Your Portrait” from An Affection for Precipices (Serengeti Press, 2006) by J. J. Steinfeld, copyright © 2006 by J. J. Steinfeld, and first published in The Writing Space Journal. Used by permission of the author.

Fiction writer, poet, and playwright J. J. Steinfeld lives on Prince Edward Island, where he is patiently waiting for Godot’s arrival and a phone call from Kafka. While waiting, he has published fifteen books, including Our Hero in the Cradle of Confederation (Novel, Pottersfield Press), Should the Word Hell Be Capitalized? (Stories, Gaspereau Press), Anton Chekhov Was Never in Charlottetown (Stories, Gaspereau Press), Would You Hide Me? (Stories, Gaspereau Press), An Affection for Precipices (Poetry, Serengeti Press), Misshapenness (Poetry, Ekstasis Editions), A Glass Shard and Memory (Stories, Recliner Books), and Identity Dreams and Memory Sounds (Poetry, Ekstasis Editions). A new short story collection, Madhouses in Heaven, Castles in Hell, is forthcoming from Ekstasis Editions.