Paintbrush

Staring around the house with a paintbrush in my hand. I am not there to paint the walls, but instead to paint my life. I walk into the kitchen and wisp the brush over the table. White, and blue dishes appear. I wave the brush around my head and close my eyes. Delicious smells fill my nose and when I open my eyes I see the table full of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, freshly made rolls and grilled vegetables. The warmth of the food tingles my cheeks and nose and I see my brother point to my chair and tell me to come eat.

Around the couch I spread the paint and pillows with blankets appear. I sit with my mom and snuggle right in with a pile a books next to us. We read and we talk and we laugh and we sing and we sit and call each other our heart.

I take my brush to the front door and sweep it up and around. The oranges and reds become brighter and finally give way to an inviting yellow. I step out and see walk toward the future with my paint brush in my hand.

 

Still In Progress

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Footprints in the Snow

I left my footprints in the snow.

I knew when I first saw the snow fall

that prints could be left by any and all.

I checked through the window to see in the drifts

there were three toed bird prints and cat paws there,

holes made from icicle drops in the snow’s tear.

When I finally made it out with boots on my feet

I didn’t waste time in my jumps and my leaps.

Looking behind to see what I had left to show,

I left my footprints in the snow.

These Hands

Fall 203

What will my hands make today?

They are open and ready for anything.

I wonder what I can fit in them

and if I can grasp it or just give it a fling.

 

I have so much potential in what I can do.

They can open and close, they can wriggle and snap.

They can count and be crossed,

clutch and make words just like that.

 

In the palm of these hands,

they can hold your heart.

Always connected to you

back from my start.