
The Significance of Unimportance: Self-Portrait 1889
A frown,
like his orange-painted Dutch hair,
often fit unsettlingly comfortable
onto Vincent’s pale, slim face
that his catholic mother had so begrudgingly given him.
She would
sometimes, with slow purpose,
take his small hands
in her own
and try, with his nubby fingers as tools,
to smooth out the tiny,
forked wrinkles that clouded the space between his thin, girlish eyebrows.
Sighing
deep, she removed her hands
and brought them up
to cover her own face
and
wonder
the terrors and illness
lurking,
dormant,
inside of his mind.
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