My Painter

The canvas came alive-more and more
Stroke after stroke
The illiterate girl, with no voice smiled
as she painted.

Dab of Brilliant yellow on a summer hat
Touch of coffee brown on his shoes
The picture moved of its own accord
And my girl with no voice, smiled.

The picture’s couple was hand in hand
Smiles on them both.
The painter coyly accepted my praise.
The scene developed more-the background came to fore

The river was their handrail as love consumed them.
Off in the distance a bridge, large and
graceful, spanned the gentle river.
And upon the pine green bench were two birds, leaning close

The woman in the painting was
Looking at them, still smiling that smile
Of satisfied love.
And the man, with his coffee brown shoes
Held the same smile, also gazing at the birds.
The girl, my painter, cleaned her brush
And this time caressed the sky
With subtle blues, whites, tinges of grey
And a splash of lavender all beautiful and in harmony.

My hand on her shoulder as she
moved the brush, feeling the strength, the will in her warm body.
As my Illiterate silent genious
Stared at me, I noted the smile, it was
The same as that in the picture.
We met, our lips, our bodies, our souls.

When the conscious mind was again mine to control
I looked around, and smiled.
She was with me hand in hand

As we looked at the birds and the
River. The sky was an incredible lavender, blue, and white.

I felt a tickling at my feet, and
Out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed
A large paint brush coloring my shoes, a
Coffee brown.
john reed clark 9/9/92