Chaty killed herself in her Paris apartment,
surrounded by white lilacs.
Pierre continued to paint her
as if she were still alive.
Sometimes she’s just a glint of white paint
in his wife’s eye, at others
the long knob of a door pull
is the exact length of her nose.
Why is art so hard?
The sign on her door
said back in an hour,
the buzzer taped like a mouth.
A strand of hair caught under the tape.
Which happens often all over the world
accidentally every hour.
Because of the hair.
Yes, I think so now.
The sad blur of the hair crossing the tape.
A person can easily forget
how big seagulls really are
but not a single hair magnified under tape,
the strict manner in which it speaks.
Now is the time to get well.
Very quiet, hardly planning at all.
Look, a plate of eggs:
I don’t have time to experiment
so I am eating them by myself
while they are still yellow.