The Painting Poem by Jackie Allen

Frozen in time, the tides, the ocean’s roar.
Yet, intent upon her work, she is painting
a scene from that day, framed by memory.
In it, she’s in shock, unable to help.

Her mind is set. Though she is old, the scene
cries out, begging to be painted once more.
Alas, the sky is darkening with shades
of pain, like red skies that paint some mornings

Lo! In her mind’s eye
she sees a little boy.
He’s about six or seven or so,
and he is playing with a toy.

He’s running. A string in his two hands.
He’s struggling, and he is falling. And
the kite’s multi-ribboned tail, it is waving
Like an omen warning of things to come.

In this frozen morning, it is waving
goodbye. In mind’s eye she is screaming still.
Alas, each and every morning she’s
painting the colors of sorrow, of grief.