The Helen Portrait by Mark J. Mitchell

Dies nächt sinf nicht für die menge gemacht

(Nights are not made for the masses)

—Rainier Maria Rilke, The Book of Pictures

Night. She hopes she looks east. One husband liked

early sun on her impossible face. Night

makes her sing of touch. He asked a picture

be made. She’d lean on a terrace, east wall

ahead of her—for the light. She knew his fall—

that death—waited there. He meant to see her

at his end. Small man came with a smooth

board, pumiced. He arranged paint wells, burnt sticks.

Then he looked at her for days. He didn’t move.

She stood, silent as a laurel. She knew

what was and what was coming. Her eyes fixed

the distance. On the third day he tried

a stroke of charcoal, sounding like a wound

on an unshaved face. She looked out and sighed

the sigh of one who knew. He sketched. At noon,

he left. The board was bare. She’s seen his hand

moving. Heard it draw. She breathed, but kept still.

Next dawn, he tried again. Again. Again.

No pictures exists and no picture will.

Bio

Mark J. Mitchell was born in Chicago and grew up in southern California. His latest poetry collection, Roshi San Francisco, was just published by Norfolk Publishing. Starting from Tu Fu was recently published by Encircle Publications. A new collection, Something to Be and a novel are forthcoming. He is very fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Miles Davis, Kafka and Dante. He lives in San Francisco with his wife, the activist and documentarian, Joan Juster where he made his marginal living pointing out pretty things. Now, he’s looking for work again. He has published 2 novels and three chapbooks and four full length collections so far. His first chapbook won the Negative Capability Award. Titles on request. A meager online presence can be found here. A primitive web site now exists here. I sometimes tweet @Mark J Mitchell_Writer