My Mother Paints Pretty Pictures

I lke Jazz, but I am no musician.  
I see the world in bits and pieces, 
"Stacatto", with some high notes  thrown in.

Colors are a passion, 
But how to mix them to make it real, eludes me. 
Purple skies and orange moons resonate. 

I like the spaces between things,.
The undiscovered terrains, are the most familar to me.
I'm at home there,
In between.

I admire the measured canvasses my mother paints. 
The boundaries are tight and well-kept. .
She has a way of improving on the real, 
And makes the rawness go away.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

Poem

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