Grandma's Paint

October 17, 2009

The sun gives
ideal source
for drying acrylic;
perfect for her pages
on which she pastes
thoughts and pleasures.

Light breeze ripples
on hardening liquid.
Cool eases heat
that hits her forhead
but even then
strokes of stained fingers
on crinkled paper
ignore unsettledness.

Birds afar conquer
allowing new ideas
to enter book;
cars hum, them also
implanting a new head title.

All now that is heard
are dogs, birds, faint bugs
and grandma's brushing,
paper crackling.
The king of creative
could not even compete.

She closes book;
cracking of new and
past entries.
Thicker than a brick,
she'll return on inspired ideas.