|
| spaces |
| (for Elizabeth) |
| She prefers |
| the safe walls of homes |
| to wide-open spaces these days, |
| her hands now fashioning |
| quiet patterns of domesticity. |
| Having forsaken |
| her plains' creative endlessness |
| for many new voices' demands |
| brings a silent smile to her face -- |
| She finds nothing lost, |
| as they need her, |
| and the desert is used to its loneliness. |
| She paints still-life now |
| and not landscapes, |
| in colors she hadn't used until then; |
| pale blues and disciplined browns |
| left for playful green |
| and the laughter of yellow. |
| And to the noisy bouncing of balls |
| and passed plates, |
| her sky now waits, patient. |
| © Jon Bohrn (2000) |
