Miss Picasso Poem by Art Gatti

I know how her face sprung from Picasso’s brush,
why her features floated
and only spoke to madness…
plains of vision distorted, dimensions tripping over each other…
it was his love of the model!
Her face filled his imagination, so he banned it from the canvas.
Days on end, staring at the blankness
until she appeared there, bit by bit.

How I see you in my every reverie;
one sweet feature at a time
unconnected.
How can these all be
on one face
at one time?
Hair and profile and full-on smile?

Time and space bend and warp if I try to
imagine you all,
all at one time.
How can I picture your face,
when it pictures itself so wildly inside my head?

I am a blind man groping,
seeking to unpuzzle the pieces.
I am your final creator.
I am your mad Catalan.

[this poem appears in the current online magazine Allegro]