Teodoro Sassetti To His Father Francesco
2021
Francesco Sassetti and His Son Teodoro by Domenico Ghirlandaio, ca. 1488, Tempera on wood
In response to “Portrait of Francesco Sassetti and his son Teodoro” (c. 1488) by Domenico Ghirlandaio
I.
Oh good father, why do you
Look past my gaze with such
Adamant wistfulness?
Are you unable to
Look at your own creation?
I have done all you asked for,
I have laid my conscience bare
For you to pick and choose as you
Please, I have
Filled the spaces of my
Missing self with your
Fragmented memories of him –
Your son, taken too soon,
A character made for me
To play perfectly.
He was God’s gift to you, and
I a blithe imitator, your
God-given second chance. And
On me you have staked your claim,
Fulfilling all you could not with him.
You have shackled me to
The name of a brother
I do not know, a body
Beneath us buried.
Of me you have made
A keepsake bearing
Strange likeness to a boy
I’ve yet to meet.
If I squint I may see
My own face looking back
At me in my brother’s portrait.
But its scars of age,
Each drip of wax a tribute,
Are telling, calling,
Denoting
A year passed of my birth,
A year passed of brother’s death.
II.
But Time’s passenger is cruel, and
There is no erasing how
My face began to grow distant
From the evergreen youth
Of dear brother’s aged painting.
Thus a new portrait was commanded
Before it was too late.
As we were transposed onto
Tempera on wood,
You whispered
Both our names.
It’s been ten years since I last saw you,
Father, I have tried to escape you,
But you are a piece of me I can’t
Let go of; This role you forced me
Into, I fear I can never be
Free from. Drowned in your
Putrid disappointment, feeling
Your eyes sear the branding of a
Failed experiment into my skin.
O’ Brother of mine; he and I have begun
To blur, our faces mixing in
A dangerous centrifuge of
Colour and intertwining lives.
I know not what is mine and what
Is his; He is my shadow, following
Me everywhere. I have tried to
Run from the reach of his
Immortal eyes, paint cracked
Around the edges.
And yet, no matter where I go,
He is there, this unrecognizable
Figure so alike me,
Waiting
In my own bathroom mirror.