Self Portrait of the Virgin Mary

For Cecilia Oleksak

On the east coast, my twin paints
children and the living of lives.

Oils spread out, form life, on a tight canvas.
There’s a face, an arm, maybe a heartbeat.

Possibly Ann Arbor, Michigan or
the East Race. Perhaps a broken Heineken
bottle collapsed on a corner of Clark St.

The texture is raised, the memory faded.

How about a portrait of a bar scene?
Capture another drunken alley moment.
Wrestle an Indian, fire a gun, take a hit.

Somebody’s missing hand covers
a dartboard’s plastic bull’s-eye.
There’s a mismatched set of Jesus sandals
on a pool table and a neon Grey Goose
is nailed to a stud on a bathroom wall.

Music that will soon be in a commercial
plays from a retro-looking jukebox,
crumpled dollar bills made it past the sensor.

On the east coast my twin puts away the paints.

A crucifix over a nightstand, rosary beads
on a floor and the cry of a saxophone fill rooms.

The scene is still wet, not enough time to dry.