(based on the painting entitled, “Blue Stock”)
She painted a bridge of blue stars that spans my imagination.
It crosses into the Milky Way where, perched, I can pick out the twinkling sapphire pea that is the Earth. Mother.
She painted a bridge of steel blue stars under a sky filled with tour bus clouds bound for day trips (to heaven).
Her tiny hands are forever busied building bridges, bridges, bridges…(Some times they pass over my skin, delicate and strong as silk thread, my skin tightens with pleasure and I become a drum.)
She fashioned a bridge of gesso and canvas stretched like a drum skin over a frame.
It climbs upward toward tomorrow, carries a Ford Focus into the sky.
Gingerly at first and then with resignation, finally with joyous abandon I ascend the bridge (in my mind’s eye) climbing toward a new day, a new walk, beyond sorrow, transcending hope; A place I’ve never been before (and all these years
stacked behind me like cord wood.) Tears descend from my eyes and the compass in
my heart spins wildly trying to discern if I’ve lost my mind or found it.