As I stand in front of this painting
which seems more a witch’s world
than mine, and I like it
all the more for it’s bizarre
and blissful, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Excuse me,” a woman says who I wouldn’t
describe as simply beautiful, but
bountiful too in a way where she corners
all my complex “b” adjectives,
“are you Gustave Bachman, by
chance, the famous poet?”
I wither a little on the inside,
but suddenly recall what must’ve been
my inner Yogi Berra: “You are who
you are unless you’re not.”
I take one last glance at this blaze of yellow
and wonder if there’s a color for serendipity.
First appeared in Off the Coast
Jefferson Navicky’s writing has appeared in filling Station, The Café Review, Crossborder, Hobart, and Smokelong Quarterly. He works as the archivist for the Maine Women Writers Collection, teaches English at Southern Maine Community College, and lives in Freeport, Maine with his wife.