The Foxhole by Sarah Bell

My Granddad encouraged me to “art,”

so my muse is the crooked portrait of Aunt Margaret,

cradling a Siamese cat,

that’s tacked to the wall of wine.

Lilac traces the room with a hint of smoke.

 

My muse is the crooked portrait of Aunt Margaret.

Vinyl softly scratches Holocene,

like velvet lilac and smoke trace the room.

The mason jar with white water waits.

 

The vinyl still plays like velvet

Golden rays peek through my windowsill’s glass bottles.

The mason jar with white water waits

for my hand to plunge the paint brush.

 

Golden rays peek through glass bottles upon a print:

“The art of smile and nod when all you

wanted was to punch them in the face.”

My hand plunges into the white water,

turning everything black.

 

It’s “the art of smile and nod”

because when my Granddad encouraged me to “art,”

I thought this room wouldn’t be black, lonely, and traced

With a hint lilac and smoke.

 


          About Sarah Bell:

Me? I am a student and artist from Salt Lake City, avidly outdoorsy and probably drink too much tea. I collect lipstick, watches, and anything foxes. Places? National parks, Salem cemeteries, and local art galleries. Similar to? Matilda, and Wednesday Addams. 

Sarah Bell

 

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