Media

I wish I could

slash anger across a canvas

that shrieks to be seen.

Or draw bare lines

whispering of loneliness

so that all who look

turn away with wet eyes.

I wish I could

paint joy in colors of the sun

with laughter pealing

from the end of the brush

so that hearts and the corners

of mouths are lifted.

But my paint-by-numbers hands

only copy laboriously

images conceived by another.

I content myself with words
and brush them across the page--

the only canvas I will ever paint.