Masterpiece

How would I paint suffering?

I’d choose a palette infused with browns and reds.

I’d squeeze onions to wet the watercolors,

warpaint under my eyes to battle with the canvas.

I’d paint with acrylics in an airtight closet

and one fifteen-watt incandescent bulb.

No smiling scratch-n-sniff.

No fruity tones.

No bouquets.

I’d lick the spongy tips to moisten them,

the venom of pepper-vinegar affixed to my tongue.

I’d whip bold, plucky, cutting strokes,

hurrying to finish and flip to the other side.

I’d not use paint at all, but spread gritty chalks on a new, black board,

screeching as they give themselves to the art.

I’d look away, toward the finished image of perfection,

the box-top of a jigsaw puzzle.

I’d finger-paint, boiling the colors to singe my fingertips,

adding blood to the red

and body to the brown.

Then I’d hammer nails in its hands and hang it high for all to see,

the beauty redeeming the pain.

Advertisements

About Delton

Dad, husband, drummer, cyclist, writer, poet, and Christ-follower. Right-brained dreamer solving left-brained problems. Trying to relate in new and creative ways. View all posts by Delton

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: