Expressionism
After the painting by Van Gogh on the cover of an exhibition catalog

When Van Gogh painted the woman in the red dress—
who may have been young,

but for the garish paint—
unnaturally thick red lips and rouge pot cheeks;

who may have been old,
but for the flatness of her breasts,

her cinched waist—
a villainous green turban

compressing her head—
he did not love his life. No. Maybe

his model didn’t love him or her life—
both of them at the end of one or the other.

It’s there in the shriek of paint,
not a kind stroke for either of them.

No matter how long you live with it,
it’s a surprise.

Many times, I thought to take it down,
remove it altogether,

but the rented flat is more hers than mine
and something about the tilt of her head,

not the fan half furled in her left hand,
not her right arm, elbow jutted out,

wrist barely brushing her waist,
not her one thick brow (the other hidden

by the turban) practically drawn
straight across her face—those rouged cheeks,

none of these, but the beseeching tilt of her head
makes her human.

—Nadell Fishman

Nadell Fishman's collection of poems, At Work in the Bridal Industry, was published in 2011. Ms Fishman's new collection, Traveling, Traveling is as yet unpublished. She divides her time between central Vermont and New York City.