Portrait of a Slave-Owner’s Wife
Light folds around her yellow-silk
like a pillar-candle
Shadows round her cheek curve
between lips
press below her nose
On her left
a thickened impasto
of fading paint
and varnish layers obscure shapes and
it’s hard to see a dark boy
in blue
livery bending
brown skin black hair without a stroke
of light
to wash over him so he remains
vague as a footnote
in a language
that I barely know
Is he the slave-boy beaten
by her husband?
Brutal is the imagination
seeping through generations
like a sweep of paint that could
be a smooth yellow
gown or a puddle
of piss
or yellow light
from torches waving in the night