Dry Heat

Zona Lawrence                           

Empty Paint Cans

I drew the knife

across the white

canvas filling it with

green paint . . .

I was furious, rage

twisted inside me . . .

no sky above, no end

to sea...just green ocean

with . . .  white caps

I hate machines

my minds goes

blank . . . I can’t

understand why. . .

the copier goes dark

This book of old paper

screams at me . . .

don’t  waste all

the lovely lines.

anger

I didn’t want to

deal with

We share the words

God speaks to those

who come his way . . .

He finds us here,

waiting as before . . .

our heads bent in prayer.

The flat of the knife

draws broad, the tip

curling edge . . . wet

paint, dry by daybreak . . .

To my friend, I

give this copy

of my work,

knowing she will be

kind in her reading.

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