I saw a poster in a shop once,
years after we

parted ways,

that reminded me of you—

a young woman with short, dark hair,
large, dark eyes,

one strap of her camisole
sliding down her shoulder

the way yours used to.

Modigliani.

She looked nothing like you.
I remember your eyes are green, Pat,
and from the pictures I saw on Facebook,

your hair is still that same soft
red-blonde.

There was something about the one strap,
I guess, or the directness of her gaze,

so I put you in the painting
even though you weren’t there.

Funny how the mind works, isn’t it,
when you’re in love?