Monday, May 11, 2015

My Daughter Sketching

For you are my strength and my refuge:
  you will lead me out to the pastures....
                                                      Psalm 30
                                                                                                                            Van Gogh

                                                I don't know where she goes
                                                when her softer lines take unseen routes,
                                                curve into other realms.

                                                The crosshatched maps of her thoughts
                                                spread over the pale-laps of pages;
                                                mimes of shadow and light across a crumpled quietude.

                                                She leans and sings while blackening the sky,
                                                her hand and eye dancing a graphite variation,
                                                coal-black birds across the dusky rye.

                                                I don't know where she goes
                                                on her sojourns of solitude
                                                through the lonely lying of the light,

                                                vast outstretching imaginings;
                                                arrow shifting within
                                                the compass of her wandering.


  1. Oh, how wonderful. This could have been written about me in my sketching and painting days :).

  2. Cynthia, I think about growing up when I read this. I love that you have the gift of presence in which to capture these moment, feelings, questions, and longings. Brava for this kind of reaching-into-life poem. This could've been a messy one, but you kept it well, weaving it into perfect stanzas and not feeling pressure to answer the question in any sort of perfect way, but pointing to possibility.

  3. Thanks Amy. I love when I am hit by something and take notice. I guess I need to be clunked over the head so often to focus. The gift of the beauty of her while drawing. So grateful....