self portrait

A life-less canvas sits

Waiting for my hand.

Waiting for the pinsel to beging

Wetting the surface of white space.

Should I start with then ear,

Then the face.

Why do I stare,

I am not amazed,

I haven’t heard anyone complaining

Of how hard it is to start a self-portrait.

Maybe I’m going all wrong

About starting one of these things.

It feels like something is wrong.

Maybe the magic of what makes me is gone.

Should I look in the mirror and smile at my self,

Then paint the features of my face in white space.

The other day I had no problem painting

My mother’s, my brother’s, and my sister’s portraits.