The Object: Tube of Paint

This crazy canvas stares blankly at me every time I walk by.

It’s.

Still.

White.

Ever since this day—almost a full year ago--when I loaded up boys in a panic of optimism and flew to Michaels.

Because I had to have it.

Had to paint.

Because I was dreaming of Michelangelo.

And I have painted since. Two lovelies that were gifted to appreciative walls.

But this--this wallflower--remains bare.

Because I wanted it to be special.

Needed it to be special.

And I just haven’t had the time.

But I wonder…am I afraid?

I know that fear; the paralyzing terror of making first stroke, reaching first touch, writing first word, leaping into thin air…

And this leads me to wonder: where else is an empty place waiting? What else does fear leave pale and wanting?

The question carries me to my paintbox.

These lifeless tubes of paint hold power over me that I cannot give word to. I tremble when I take them out of their hiding place. My heart thrills.

And the setting up of the palette becomes this prayer…

alizarin crimson
cerulean blue
scarlet lake…

chunky
metal
vessel
rolled up on end
like my tube of toothpaste

yellow ochre
burnt sienna
viridian…

life hidden
inside
fragile walls

give to me
your color.

ultramarine
sap green
permanent
rose…

stagnant
dormant
waiting
to be squeezed out

give to me
Your water

and see me flow--
rivulets of
color.

This prayer-poem responds to L.L. Barkat’s weekly poetry challenge. Visit her here to learn more about it.