A Painter’s Tissue: A Poem

The blog hath risen from its slumber! As I have had some free time over the Spring Break, I managed to scribble down this poem. This is inspired by some of my recent reading: Shakespeare’s ‘Marriage of True Minds’ and Carol Ann Duffy’s ‘Valentine’.

For my parents

Not rose petals or a satin heart:

their love is like a painter’s tissue.

Once it was a wispy, fragile creature

It’s fibres shrivelling and blooming under

the water’s first touch.

And now, they still clasp the fibres taut

as inks leap off the painter’s brush

in cobalt blue and onyx black

vermillion red and salmon pink,

Rushing along ridges of fabric,

Penetrating veins surging in from all sides,

Colours colliding and swirling and snaking…

Trying their weathered hands.

Like my grandparents before them, I know they will hold on

Even as their muscles become dried, thick acrylic

And the fibres fray and disintegrate into

wispy, soft sepia.

Keep reading and readjoicing, 


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