A
Gesture Drawing
Part
I
Somehow
your arm has become a charcoal flourish,
your
hair now only scribbles,
and
your face a collection of smudges.
You
are without distinction or detail, a gesture drawing.
You
try to recall.
Did
you sing love songs?
Did
you ever keep goldfish in a clear bowl?
What
color were your mother’s eyes?
Part
II
Some
people suffer. Some fade.
The
suffering always in distinct details:
Sharp
slaps to the face, a family that walked away,
a
new disease that spends pain quick as a dime.
An
old man once faded from your neighborhood.
He
gradually stopped coming out to sit in his sunshine portico.
His
newspapers collected there.
A
young family moved in.
Part
III
Thirteen
squares of the same size
but
of differing shades of grey, if placed properly,
are
enough to give you recognition to the face of Abraham Lincoln.
Twelve
will not do.
One
square, one detail tips the balance.
--Mitchell
Hegman
No comments:
Post a Comment