the painting

The Painting


When she left, it was late in the evening
on the snow-covered path to the street
her footprints were not visible
On the road,  there were too many
footprints to recognize if any of them
belonged to her
years like layers of wood stacked up when
I saw her in a painting by Paula Rega
So many suffering women abused by men
and their desire to be loved, causing them
to fall into hardship
They survived while I suckled on a nipple
another woman, risking her future in
the hope of love where there was none
the endless poverty doing others' laundry
hands red bloated a ring of promise, not
kept, impossible to remove.
these are the women who do not leave
footprints in the snow
Paula Rega gave them a voice, reduced
the men who had lost what they thought
was love, to fear ghosts in the longest night