June

She has seen things.
It’s there -
brimming under the tired eyes,
the disheveled pepper and salt wisps of hair.

She has seen the endless possibilities
of shoelaces and wine bottles,
yellow ochre and cadmium red,
lenses and paintbrushes.

And there,
in her musky old studio,
overflowing with years
of piled objects, dust,
and minds poured onto paper,

She gave me a pencil,
a board,
a room,
an eye,
and said,

“Draw.”