Bright Paint Over Dark Wood
You bought it at an auction, late in the day
when they sell the broken things.
Fast and furious. A dollar here. A dollar this.
It cost you five
and for years you hauled it around,
broken, interesting enough to keep,
Fragile and brittle, difficult to repair,
it became glamorous trash,
useless, ornamental, and in time a reminder
of work not done.
So you painted it. A bit at a time.
Left over paints from other projects,
chosen carefully. whimsically. from trash
to art in a few brushstrokes,
leaving you with something unexpected and magical.
Fantasy in the midst of a hard season,
trash no more,
a multicolor mirror of your own life.
over dark wood.
About this poem.
The picture is of one of my most unexpected and beloved pieces of art. The poem is mostly true. Autobiographical as hell.