Big Nose, Big Nose

The ex-husband's an artist. In

one of his classes while working on a
BFA, he needed one model to
draw in a number of different styles.
He chose to draw me and I thought,
sure, why not, no harm in that.
But in every portrait he drew me with
a humongous nose, a gargantuan
nose, an enormous nose.
da Vinci’s Mona Lisa with my
eyes and mouth and a costume
witch’s  warty nose. Rubens’
voluptuous nude Venus had my
curves, my ass, but in the
mirror, nothing’s visible but her nose.
From Picasso’s cubist period, I was
all nose and one black unblinking eye.
Then last December on the Paris metro, I
caught my reflection in the window.
Without a doubt, there was my prominent
nose – long, thin with a slight
bump near the top of the ridge. I
glanced around. The woman sitting across
from me had the exact same nose.
The woman next to me, the two men
in the aisle – they, too, had this nose.
Everywhere I went everyone I met
had my nose, this beautiful, regal nose.
For thirty years I’ve been under the
erroneous assumption that my nose is big.
But my nose isn’t big. It’s French.

Poetic Asides Prompt: Day 9

For today's prompt, write a self-portrait poem. Other artists study themselves to create compositions (not all of them exactly flattering either), so it is only natural that poets, who are word artists, write self-portrait poems from time to time. In fact, some poets make self-portrait poetry "their main thing." For at least today, make it yours.