I learned to love to paint. My hands trembled the first time I picked up the brush. The lack of color left my thoughts white and afraid to be coated. Today, as always, I question what my paint palette should be. I wonder what color fancies my heart?
I once dreamed of names for my children in high school, thinking of a man I would marry. So why can I not decide today, what color suits my mind? Does not Calvin weave water into ice cubes and Raina forever lick salt from frothy cheeks? Then my heart should beat blue and spill red.
“Color directly influences the soul. Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another purposely, to cause vibrations in the soul.”
As I watch a day progress to the blackness of mourning,
I sit trembling
horsehair brush in hand
tickling my heart with story
and dreaming of my friend.