Art Lesson

The cat sleeps in a stupor of tuneful breezes

loaded with wind chimes and finches’ chat,

waking from time to time to lick a stripe or scratch

a twitch, then spills itself again on Laura’s setee,

too drunk to mind the brawling crows or pounding

from the woodshop where my daughter is making

a dollhouse and sweats as she rasps her plank

or labors with a back saw.

Sometimes she mars the wood and has to start over,

for faith, she learns, weighs more than force

in the art of getting it right, her dream house.

A wren flits back and forth building a nest

in the beams, in the pine-sweet air

where spending oneself is sleep bursting open.

(in What a Light Thing, This Stone)

One comment

  • Chuck

    Suzanne, Love your website, and love the new(?) writings.

    From a few deft strokes of un-ordinary pallet, images
    appear, teasing mind and ear
    ‘Til the soul surrenders.


    September 26, 2011

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