The Canvas

Paint flies through the air
as my hands flail and toss.

Blacks and blue
and storms of red and brown.
My face contorts with my rage
and my hands are covered in the
blood-spattering effect
of the paint.

The canvas is wounded
with bleeding gashes,
dents, and streaks;
the visual portrayal
of my heart.

I stand back and pant,
the fury still raging inside.
I run forward,
throwing myself at the stained
mess.

My shoulder makes the canvas
give some more and the paint
drips to fill in the new hole
and my body shrivels down
to the floor.

My arms and face and shirt
are covered with the lurid pigment.

As I breakdown, both physically
and mentally,
the colors mix with
the salty pools of my tears.

Even as I sit,
withered on this floor with
the wreck of my newest creation above me,
I feel no relief.

The painting doesn't
change anything.
It can't replace him.
It can't bring them back.
It can't heal me.

I raise my hand to the base of the board,
holding my fingers in the
sticky moisture
and claw once more
as my body is racked with a
fresh wave of tears.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

The Bracelet

Sparkling and gleaming,
the metal catches the light as it
lies on my wrist.
Each heart connected,
link by link,
held together by a loose
circle and rod.

Although the bracelet holds
sweet memories for me,
I look at it now as a symbol;
hearts connected and interlaced-
always on the brink of falling off.

It is a beautiful balance
of design and functionality,
of connection and separation.
A balance of hearts;
fragile at best.

But in the center is a gem,
a twinkling, blinking reminder;
a remembrance of times past,
of hope and peace and love.

It's held in place
firm and tight
to save the precious stone.
It holds steadfast
to the most wondrous gift of all.

I gaze down at the light metal,
as it turns over in my head and hands
and I drift as the loose connection
lets it fall from my wrist.

Just like him,
Just like them all,
the bracelet slips to fall,
away from my wrist;
away from my call.

But I reach slowly down,
examining the fault
and touch each small piece
and each little heart.

I grasp it once again,
and secure it safe and sound.

The bracelet twinkles on,
the hearts connect again,
and hope reveals itself once more.


Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice

Art of the Commute

My head leans back
and I jerk as it comes in contact
with the sold concrete of
a trashcan.

Reflective of my day,
I think to myself
and furrow my brow to the sound
of another screaching
beeping
squeaking
braking
bus.

I hide in my music
and the let melodies wash over my
tired ears andmind-
at least their tunes aren't liable
to throw
or toss
or wear
me down.

Or at least not this song.

The bus arrives and I climb in,
dragging each limb in,
in an attmept to keep my brain in.
But as more people enter and stack
arm to arm
back to back,
there's suddenly a laughing girl
on my lap.

I sigh and face the window
and try to ignore the smog
and the long ride that is left.
She soon leaves my bubble
and I mentally shake myself off,
to rid of the sweat-
a sick threat;
the rubble.

The brakes squeal once more
as my body bumps and jumps
over the uneven pavement.
I'm at my next stop
to start
the next part
of the art
of the commute.

...If only that guy would move his arm.

Copyright 2009, Colleen Sarah Rice