Modigliani in the Moonlight

Gayane Haroutyunyan

Before Modigliani painted portraits

of dames and men

in his rusty old shack,

he used to visit a French brothel

ten blocks down

from his house.

He was after women and

hash, mostly not women

because they made him weep and fly

and then ache like a chopped willow.

By the time he was half way there

the sizable bottle of wine in his hand

was empty and he was not sure

where he was headed

or who he was.

The only thing he knew

was the shape of the object

in his hand

a blueprint of his life

and it was moist

and heavy.