there are three of them:
like three rectangular eyeballs rolling,
scoffing from my dining room table.
and i'm supposed to paint them.
but i don't know how
to ask the colours what they mean;
to wander in fields of abstraction
and find my balance;
to trace the edges of shadows and
hold them up to the light
like a gift.
i'm a photo-realism kind of grown-up
and i've forgotten how to play.
to believe in what i cannot see
until it becomes art:
sock feet waltzing across living room rug;
wrinkled hands splashing bath tub bubbles;
voice warbling songs never before sung.
it's time to finger-paint.
wandering over to emily's place
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
an eleven punctuates the space between my eyebrows...
it's a mark aging beauties consider slathering or injecting or lifting away.
but try as they may, they can't erase
and neither can i.
so tonight, while this furious little mark etches itself
in front of a space filled with questions and exclamations,
i'll take it as a reminder that
but i am.
my beautiful friend cut her hair. you should see her now!