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Self-Portrait as Psychology
after two paintings by Soheila Sokhanvari
The straps on my shoes make an X across my feet.
My eyes snap open and shut like a purse. Plink plink.
The way we depart from ourselves when the moon comes out.
The way a cat shows its claws when picked up and held.
If this is the slow kind of hell, I’m used to it—
My hands are folded the wrong way, the cat sits on the bed
Like a limpet, the sun drops out of the sky, inexorable
As a chandelier earring. I don’t believe in forgiveness
Or holding hands or the kind of people who keep treasured
Figurines. Sometimes the truth is impossible as a bodice
Spilling over with boobs, it just can’t be contained.
What do you have to do to get arrested around here?
The pictures on the wall look back with no pity. Sometimes
The truth is unpalatable as a stain. Even the cactus
Judges me from its corner, arms raised like it’s giving up.
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Jane Yeh is the author of three poetry collections: Discipline (2019), The Ninjas (2012), and Marabou (2005), all published in the UK by Carcanet Press. Her poems have appeared in The New York Review of Books, The New Republic, Poetry, and elsewhere. She was born and raised in the US and lives in London. [“Self-Portrait as Psychology” first appeared in The New York Review of Books, May 29, 2025. Author photo by Jon Stone.]
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Soheila Sokhanvari, Watching the Moon (2018), egg tempera on calf vellum.