Turpentine Breath
I woke up to turpentine breath in the air
brushes vermilion and cobalt blue
rinsed out from the art they transferred for you.
I snuck to the palette left unattended
and couldn’t help touch the drying oils
forming skins until I got to them
fingers stained burnt sienna.
These were just residues of last night's greatness.
The portrait of twins from Siam on the table
alive on the easel as clear and as real
as the brush strokes you made with your hand.
You blew with the breath of a genius deliberate
and slept on our living-room couch 'till they faded
those flashes of novels and orchestral pieces
run like the blood through your heart.
The hours I stood at your hip while you painted
canvas alive with the newest creation
eyes heavy, stealing the sleep I was needing
and then sweet bed, sweet bed...
I woke up to turpentine breath in the air
brushes stand clean at attention and wait
for the moment the artist in you decided
it was time to breathe life and to paint, and to paint...
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005
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