— After Untitled (2018) by Robert Bosisio
Not a person – not in so many words.
Vague object, skin without pigment, he breathes
and moves but can’t be free: they say that luck
lives in that skin. The villagers misheard
his name, and seek him out to touch, believe
and cannot let him go. You watch him flick
away a crowd. To grip him is the charm,
despite his stifled protests. “All deceive
themselves: a lack of color, white not black,
is nothing special.” Others see in him
the form hope takes; good fortune in disguise
means crops and safety. Elsewhere, looking back,
he marvels at how that which horrifies
once seemed angelic, pure, in other eyes.
National Portrait Gallery, London
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