
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.