Progress on panel 1 of a series.
Look at the rag in your hand. How much of your life has
been squandered in the weeding of these fingerprints?
As soon as they are wiped away, more sprout along the walls
and doorjambs. Willful buds and sprouts, vying, multiplying.
Even in sleep their marks seem to expand and disperse.
Mornings reveal new conquests: a teak table riddled
with muddy blooms, your own reflection fading beneath
kudzu streaks of honey. And so the entropic spirals
unwind; lush and unapologetic shrieks of abandon calling to
the farthest corners of the cosmos. Until they’ve moved on.
Suddenly the house sparkles with the mute varnish of
a newly frozen pond. You palpate the furnishings for
fossilized echoes and find none. As the rag drops, you
look at your hand. It is too threadbare to utter a sound.
But the sky, it teems with arches, loops and whorls. Tonight
you choose from the galaxies of haikus in their hotbed of ink:
these miniature fists
unfurl in my palm just as
they begin to leave
Acrylic on wood panel. 4 of 5 in a series.
I am honored to be participating in an art event that is collaborating with the aims and activities of the local Women’s March. For those in the area and interested in visiting, the opening reception will be held this Friday, January 5th from 6 to 9 pm at the GALA Center in SLO. It will run from the 5th to the 26th of this month. On the 20th, during the Women’s March rally, participants are also invited to visit the exhibit (as well as similarly-themed exhibits at other local venues) from 12-4.
Even death feels the cold this morning.
There she stands by the side of the road,
her plumed arms outstretched, beckoning
a tenuous birth of the sun. I watch the two,
Yin and Yang, hungry for one another’s
embrace. We are all so weary of the vacuous
fog that swirls about these days. It riddles
heads, clefts chests in two, numbs fingers
such that they begin to lilt, hopelessly blind
to the fellow hands lumbering beside them.
I linger a moment longer before the colossal
shadow, ever reaching towards the light.
I raise my fist to the sky. The wisps of
warmth are beginning to come back.