A Lesson From Drawing

A poem

Photo by Diego PH on Unsplash

I. Outside

From the front porch
I catch the golden glow of sunrise
skimming the roofs of my neighbors' houses

I hear the twittering of juncos,
and my kids opening their window,
faces pressed against the screen
to see if their dad has left for work yet

I try to write what I see,
which is
an abandoned RIVAL NERF gun disrupting
my blank canvas

I feel the cool ridges of the bistro table,
watch the steam rise from my coffee,
notice how the air smells crisp
like the world has been washed new

Against the faint murmur
of commuting cars--
a soundtrack best reimagined
as the roar of the ocean--

I am reminded of a lesson from drawing:
you're supposed to draw what you see,
not what you think you see

this will help your work
look authentic and not
like a cartoon

II. Inside

If music is, 
as Debussy claimed,
the space between the notes,

then maybe life is not 
the gleaming hardwoods, 
uncluttered coffee tables,
and artfully tossed throws

but instead
the messes 

between the tidying sessions

I wonder if true art
emerges from presenting the we that we are,
not the we that we think we should be--

that is boring, that has 
already lived
in the imaginations of others.

I wonder what it would be like
to allow a lens on my life
that presents me as I am, 
quirky and shy:
the girl whose feet 
are always filthy
from walking barefoot
whenever she can