Creative Cafe

8516 Greenwood Avenue North
February 17, 1996

When I was six, home after open-heart surgery,
my mom colored my coloring books with me.
She amazed me because she colored within the lines.
She amazed me because she used flesh color for the face.

I remember that event 21 years later, almost to the day,
as I paint tiles, write poetry, and sip my latte.
If my mom were here her impressionist art would look like impressionist art.
If she painted Easter bunnies they'd look so real they'd hop.

Also, I think if I asked my mom what she thought of my impressionist art
that resembles maggots on moldy spaghetti,
she'd look at me and sincerely say,
Mary, you've created a masterpiece.