Canvas

Turned one of my therapy prompts into a poem…

Blank canvas,
illusion of new.
What are these shades
of old beneath
rising through,

discoloring the purity
of clean slate…
I lay the brush down
before first stroke
of paint

and step back
for a more
distant perspective.
Rorschach shadows
become detected.

Buried beneath
the fresh-white,
I deny them
resurrected life

and apply another
layer on top,
but the past creation
again creeps up.

So I switch
to turpentine
and attempt to excavate
the shapes
that underlie.

In an old life,
I find….

an abstract piece
of universe,
in which I orbit
a black hole
with hues so vibrant

that feeds itself
from my colors,
not symbiotic
yet I always offer.

It does pull,
but also repels;
it will never allow me
inside itself.

Gravity does not
keep me there,
looping the same cycle
that keeps me
in despair;

I choose it,
foolishly,
until there is barely
anything
left of me.

Since the past
on this canvas
can’t seem to be erased,
I make myself the center
and add an axis
to turn away

and keep my face
toward the light,
and my colors and definition,
I reapply.

Then some of my favorite things,
I paint to orbit
around ME
and set into motion
a new trajectory…

Well Mirage

By clinging together,
raindrops resist
at the edge 
of the cliff, 
the abyss,

at the border between
life 
and the cracking brown
that begs for tears
to re-quench
what has already been
drowned:

concrete, manmade.
How futile it is to keep
watering the pain.

Green and blue
reflect and infuse,
ever so gently pull
toward better use:

decide instead
to feed growth
and desert these looping
barren roads.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise