H.B.
A poem written during art class
Published in
Dec 22, 2020
Each one of us could draw a window;
carbon lines to build a frame.
The bricks, the glass, the sash, the sill —
no two of them would be the same.
We shade and shadow,
smudge and blend;
this class, this day, this year will end.
We did our best;
He knows how hard we pressed,
but we’ve all got different hands to lend.
The same Hard Black, between finger and thumb
makes a different mark for everyone.
Each of us is trying to escape
through a graphite window that our pencils make.
© Amy Knight 2020
