Self-Portrait by Hope LeGro

Imagine fury as white lines
smeared across a black plane—

a canvas as large as
a room, black paint

edge to edge.
White dripping from

her brush dripping
down the painter’s arms, her

hands, tiny spots of gray
like wounds where the paint

touched because she could not
wait. Fury, thick as a door,

longer than her body.
Damage might be someone

else’s fault, might
be done already. No

matter. Hang it on a wall.
Puncture the canvas like

skin and pull the knife
to the wood, fury

spilling to the floor.

Hope Smith LeGro is a poet and book editor living and working in Washington, DC. This poem is from a manuscript in progress.