Friday, June 01, 2007

ART at HOME...


Sweet guest, you wondered why I'd hung my house
So thick with pictures, family photographs,

Why she appeared so often here, as though

Perhaps I never had left home at all.

Those pictures seek to please no heart, arouse

No heart, but mine
and mine by half
At most. But that was half my life, you know,

I must have some faint echoes on my wall.

Imagine that you now must leave your house,

Go back out West again, no kids, no craft,

The Bay State decades gone like dreams or snow:

You'd cling to shadows of this state, your call.

My family life's alive,
still part of mine,
Not deadwood I can just prune off the vine.


There are colors I can almost taste

They give me so much pleasure

Once I drove down a fresh-tarred road,
Impossibly black asphalt, bearing an

Impossibly bright orange double line,
Fresh painted, and

White cousins on the sides so bright

I almost had to blink.
The contrast and the color pulled my grin so wide
I felt the tightness in my cheeks

And then—
From bushes right beside the road

A single bird,
Black flurried motion upward,
Two yellow and two red smears on his wings
All shining, swinging in ascent

My grin exploded:
Although my road had suddenly gone gray.

1 comment:

  1. Hi, Trollie.

    I'm glad to see you're happier.

    Hugs, budd.