Her Painting ~ A Poem for My Mother

She was my deepest inspiration.

Raw canvas I am
Pulled from the shelf by delicate, determined hands
Then placed on an easel
The pallet below filled with a sea of colors

I sense calm from the beautiful face that looks upon me
I see a powerful energy surrounding her
A light in her eyes makes me feel anticipation
What are her plans for me

Brushes begin to swirl over my surface
On occasion her small fingers work the paint pigments directly into the fibers of my being 
She alternates between brushes, sponges, tools that scrape, and
tools that imprint as she builds layers or takes them away

Lines are becoming shapes, shapes are becoming forms
Possibly a shoulder, a face, a hip, a thigh
Could it be that I am a flower, do I see petals, leaves, stems
Only she knows my meaning, only she knows her intent

Colors are lush
Depth is evident in every area of my surface
Textures and brush strokes express talent and knowledge
Time stands still as areas are worked and reworked until her satisfaction has been reached

All is coming forward
The skills from her hands
The wealth of wisdom from her head
The undeniable riches within her heart

One final gesture, a brush eloquently scripts on my lower corner
Patricia
I am complete
I am her painting