Portraits on the walls of my inherited house
Keep changing faces. Sometimes,
The pictures become blank,
And I think I'm free from their voices.
I examined one that had the face
Of a woman with dark hair, tightly bound.
She wore a high-collared black dress,
Was called all her life, "Miss Gertrude."
I examined the picture with a magnifying glass.
Could not find one trace of the portrait.
Could not find a speck. It was blank.
But the blankness had a voice,
It said "You have drunk too much wine."
