Self-portrait Very Angry
 
The lines of my face
penciled with possibilities,
             sketched skin over paper
bones I hide behind.
                      Let the gallery viewer

guess.  I gaze from inside
             windows, eye circles
of sadness, dead center
deserts, my mouth muting
             its lost voice, self-listening

             silenced with unacceptance.
Anger rages under brow lines
cursing the scent of lavender
             where a mother’s presence
should be. Where do I find myself

                     in this chasm of loss,
betrayal, these nights of absence
believing lies that I am not alone.

         In daylight, shades shift
on the fragile surface.  I wander
         emptiness, search the edges,
stroke between spaces

         through days and seasons
         of emerging insight.
I learn to soften lines, befriend,
embrace the shadows that surround
                      and keep me safe.

         Slowly
the blur fades, myself deciphered
I feel the glow flush
         like wings of night flies,
sense myself illuminated,
                    Alive.
 

Copyright 1998, Kay Mullen
 
Kay Mullen is a mental health counselor living with her husband in Renton, WA.  Her poetry has been published in The Antigonish Review, Literature and Belief, M.E.N.'s Magazine, Paper Boat, Avocet, and previous issues of Switched-on Gutenberg. 

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