Painting

PAINTING

Let us paint the hours of the day.

Morning is swimming pool blue

Tinctured with blown ash,

Pink gloaming

Touched by wisps of smoke;

Noon, phosphorus exploding

Blindingly, silently;

Dusk, iron oxides

Diverse as vegetables;

Night, plush sable,

Milky white, the moon.

Each word is pigment squeezed from a tube

Onto a palette of infinite possibilities.

Meaning would be unremembered

But for a picture.

Experience is meaningless

But for a symbol.

Deft brushstrokes write freshly.

Words are left to dry.

Originally published in IthacaLit (September 27, 2014)

Pandora’s Secret by Loriann Signori