(growing Pains) 7. The Artists Poem by Janice Windle

You and I
at the kitchen table
painting.
Two generations of artists
(you four, I forty-four)
Your brush busy,
delicately
dipping, touching
with care
the white paper. Your left hand
suspended above the table,
wrist bent,
hand poised in air;
on your serious little face
intense concentration.

I paint
your flaxen hair
your red apron,
your finely poised hands,
the daffodils outside the window,
but I cannot paint
the picture that you
make
for me.