Etching lines form paranoia
on a grander scale than
detail ever could;
the suggestion always far more
frightening than reality
In horror movies the monster
is not shown until the climax of the movie.
Drops of belladonna blinked into the eye
to dilate the pupils to the point of eclipse.
The actress’s eyeliner drawn on the top and bottom
but not meeting in the corner
to make the suggestion of widened eyes
I want to paint solely to satisfy
my desire to embrace divinity,
to form and destroy mountains.
I look at the oil paintings from the side
and see topography,
hold my hands behind my back not in contemplation
but to resist running shaking fingers over them.
The artist says to paint the egg without using white,
my own skin without peach, and
I realize on the graying morning that
the world is just different shades of lavender
The signature on this piece takes up half the painting
and I think to myself
what a gorgeous thing,
to make art out of ownership.
Rachael Gay is a poet and artist living in Fargo, North Dakota. Her work has appeared in journals such as Anti-Heroin Chic, The Laurel Review, Rogue Agent, Ghost City Review, Gramma Poetry, FreezeRay Poetry, Rising Phoenix Review and others as well as the anthology What Keeps Us Here (2019).