So pleased to have another poem included in one of Silver Birch Press’ amazing series!
A painting of me
by Trish Hopkinson
hung on the wall in her house
when I was young. She sent my portrait
to an address from the back of a magazine
with a money order for the specified amount.
A foreign artist recreated my infant image,
on canvas with oil paint and then returned it
to her. My chubby legs peeked out from
underneath the light blue calico dress
my mother made; the bonnet I wore matched.
One summer, when I returned to my grandmother’s
house, I asked if she still had the painting, the frame
needed repairing, so it no longer hung on her wall.
When she brought it down from the closet shelf
I was in awe of its size. It had seemed much larger,
seen by my toddler eyes. She offered it to me
and I took it home, planning to have it cleaned
and the frame…
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