The baby pulls itself around the mother’s breast,
a curving need.  Light comes to the mother’s face.
It is the countermelody.  The angled prow of her

arm, her unified movement, her yes--this painter
obeys the laws of gentleness, of coping. She knows
how the human body is broken down into a trellis

of lines.  She knows, for instance, how one’s mouth
will be drawn shut after the funeral.  She knows
how one’s abortion is a three-dimensional procedure

of scratched lines around the soft red pip.
When emptiness enters a painting, there is depth. 
The eye needs time to dissolve.  For these

figures to stand out against the background,
she creates a series of interruptions.  With shape
and hue, one must always risk losing control.

Thank you for the unexpected breaks and mistakes
that helped this woman paint.  Thank you for
the fever, the drizzle, the standing still.  Thank you

for the incomplete heart that knows no valid
boundary.  Thank you for luck’s endless changing
of position and for the oblique progress of failure.

© C.E. Perry 2007