napowrimo day 17

by larapayne

The Art Supply Store

 

Easels guard the doors. Then

frames, uncoupled and unmeasured,

full of potential. A circular rack

holds small books of -just

waiting to be colored- pages. Then the chiseled

markers. Trays of large paper. Stacks

of blank canvas. An aisle of journals,

paper plain or decadent. Brushes

small enough to paint a hummingbird’s

eye, and large enough to give weight

to a rock. Paints mixed with oil,

paints mixed with water. Segmented

hands, human figures,

even a horse. The watercolor paper

edges soft, absorbent. Unsharpened

pencils range smooth to hard.

How I could take one, even now,

and draw his profile from memory

with just a few sure strokes. But,

my hands are clumsy, unpracticed.

A few things lay in wait. I may know

her face more than my own. I pass

by the art supply store, hesitant, yet

knowing that those images, all

of these indrawn moments must

wait. Responsibility wars with a fierce

longing. My daughters await, one thirsty,

one ready for a story. My fingers long

to be smudged with graphite, my days

and minutes to be uncounted, ready

to be filled with color. Later,

on this day, the one I inhabit,

I’ll pick up a piece of chalk

and make winged beings fly

across the solid blue of my children’s

room. It is enough. This temporary

creation will do, for now. Dream

of alizarin crimson and cerulean blue.

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