Photo credit: Emiliano Vittoriosi
My Love as Art
By Danabelle Gutierrez
I know that I’ve had a history of painting you
like you’re the leader of the underworld. Black-horned,
befanged, clawed or tentacled, wielding a pitchfork.
All American Gothic, me looking at you sideways,
but let me just this once be fair to you, I loved
you once, held your hand all red shawl and green dress,
a dove flying over my head with a message.
I’ve kissed you Klimt, all gilded. Sometimes
Magritte through white cotton fabric, cried with dots,
on the phone when you told me you had to go
to the hospital, and then again when you said you
would love me forever. I even prayed for you,
Begged the Almighty, very Rembrandt in chiarascuro light.
I can only say this in retrospect, as I look over
my shoulder, with a pearl earring, the love once
felt draining slowly from my gaze, I’m so sorry
I couldn’t sculpt a better lover for you out of all
they’ve taken my arms, there’s not much I can do now,
except to give you this museum of words, all expressed, and
impressed, somewhat derivative, and up for interpretation.