shoulder to shoulder
swaying hips forward, back
side to side
stirring up stars
bringing them down on us
tip to one side and someone
loses a life
dangerous business this cliff walking life
can’t wait til the sun goes down
til the moon rises
to begin again
step lightly as the rock plates shift
be ready to hop the chasm
It’s been a time of emptying out my mother’s apartment, of calling and writing, sharing memories and tears. To find a way back to my paint I knew that brushes wouldn’t work yet. So I felt a path in with fingers and some lavish fluid acrylics and gesso.
What came of it was the boundary region where the sometimes solid, sometimes translucent curtain hangs, the one that parted briefly for me last month, giving me just a peak, as I watched my mother pass through.