Miguel Angel Solis By R. Cary

Miguel Angel Solis

By R. Cary

Her image, so acutely elegant. I can see her in it.

All of her, the grace of how her soul touches;

Her sincerities and sensitivities, the purpose

In her eyes. I can see the beauty in her 

Self-reflection. Her self-portrait definitive

In her self-belief. Mesmerized, I can only 

Stare. My eyes, no, my soul feels attached.

The depth of clarity in each stroke of paint

Speaks to me. The more I stare, the nearer

I become. Was this her intention, a work of 

Art that consumes its audience, as if this

Women is living, seeking to touch me, seeking

To let me know who she is. I can’t help but

Look deeper. I can’t help but inch forward.

In this moment, this is my reality. My truth.

This woman, this portrait. Who is she? 

I become to feel my heart throb. I begin

To have memories of my own life unfold.

Beginning to remember, what broke my soul

When she was gone from me at such a young age.

Ana. 

We were born to each other. But she was gone from me.

I never got to see her grow, to give her care

When she needed it. To let her grow when 

She needed it. To be there for her when she

Met her love. To bear children of her own.

This, my life with Ana, was never meant to be. 

Closer I feel, this painting. This painting as 

A part of me, a part of my history. Each stroke

Now in detail as I gaze over each ripple of the paint. 

I gently scroll over the corner,

My eyes render upon the name, ‘Ana Solis’. 

This cannot be. My Ana? Where have you been?

I prayed for you, I begged to see you once again 

Pouring my heart into my hands. I tried so many

Times. To find you in the heavens. To hope

You walked this earth in one form or another.

I tried so hard. I failed you, every day; I failed you.

Looking up, thinking this cannot be, the title; 

‘Father, it is me’. A Self-Portrait by Ana Solis. 

Daughter of Miguel Angel Solis. I yell, I scream, 

but no one can hear me. I look down, I cannot 

Move. My legs are made of rock. My legs are 

Burning of fire. My hands are reaching for the heavens. 

I am stuck in this form carved out of stone, 

Staring at my daughter. A self-portrait. 

Underneath my feet I read, ‘Death of a father’, 

A Piece On Suicide and Purgatory. Staring. 

At this painting. A self-portrait by Ana Solis. 

Daughter of Miguel Angel Solis. 

Forever to live in his hell. Forever.

End

Miguel Angel Solis

By R. Cary

Copyright 2022

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