As I paint, mix colors, and judge where and how my brush should go, unspoken words form ideas. Grey for the concrete and locks of hair. Objects transform into colors, the colors interlock, and words are now visible. Soon the poetry of painting calls for stringing those words together and a life other than my own speaks.
walls of ochre cardboard
beds of grey concrete with newspaper blankets
leather, red faces and sore bones
locks of grey and sienna frame pale brows
wide eyes raise unanswered questions
hands out, with pride surrendered
and thankful smiles
borrowed carts filled with treasures
families lost, but not forgotten
secret places to rest from punishing weather
harsh greetings with painful words
as I paint, stories untold appear
each subject has it's reward
and understanding comes
wrapped as a gift
I become a better person
new stories, and some old
accompany each painting
we paint with inquisitive minds
