poems on steps

#2

“And blue
and red,
and some yellow,
as the Sun.

I open my
window,
let the chill
breeze join
me in my
excitement.

I stare at it,
I smile at it,
the warm
sunlight
seems to smile
at it too.

I clean the
brushes,
and I take
my painting
shirt off,
momma,
she says I
can’t make
no mess.

It was her
only condition,
anyways.

I stop by
the mirror
and I can see
my faces as
happy as
my heart.

I see,
though,
what momma
said last night,
if I ate dessert
I wouldn’t fit
my skirt.

I swallow,
I think I’m
hungry.
I forgot
breakfast and
lunch.

I reach for
my painting,
it’s dry enough,
I’ll take it
to her.

‘Is it supposed
to be something?’,
she asks.
And my tummy
shrunks,
and my shoulders
move up and down
but she adds;
‘oh, no — 
it’s just a
messy thing,
it’s pointless,
darling.’

I come back
to my bedroom.
I shut the
door slowly,
I can’t make
no mess.

But I wonder
if the water in
my eyes,
now won’t
look a mess.
I wonder if
the water in
my eyes will
make her
look the
mess.

I promise,
then,
I hate colours.”