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Van Gogh Self-Portraits
Karen McKinnon
I look into your troubled eyes,
your burdened shoulders wary,
background the same navy
blue as your jacket, as if
you want to disappear into
the distant blue,
one wave among hundreds.
Here you are again by your own hand,
even more distressed. Your eyes
anguished, your mouth drawn up
in self-disapproval, your red beard
in front, dark blue of waves behind.
And then the one with a bandage over
half your head. You look less tormented
than before, as if you had deserved
mutilation and now that it's done,
so much anguish went with it, there's
a new painting in the background.
Three figures cavort in a sketch
of lively red. Over your shoulder
is a blank canvas on an easel, as if,
wounded now, you're ready to paint
something besides pain-perhaps
a field of irises.
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