Poem

IN SUSAN’S STUDIO
Layers of muted blue-green
cover the chair, palette, floor,
and the soles of my shoes –
droppings of the mixed thalo
seen in all six feet of her painting.

One eye peeking through a window,
Wolf scours the room to spot a trinity
of girls. One is blindfolded.
The second has an orange cat,
oblivious in his sheer delight,
jumping over her head in an arc.
Little Red’s painted face stares,
as her cake with the burning candle falls
and a dove with an olive branch flies over.

On a table across the room, a still-life
has a plaster hand lying on a headless
white doll with missing limbs, two tigers
and cat-toy rats stacked with little boy cars,
all painted the color of ash.

At the end of the studio visit,
her grey encrusted painting clothes
are ritually laid out on the floor,
pants and shirt a vertical,
sleeves spread to a horizontal,
appeasing the god of fire.

By: Carolyn Reece-Tomlin