Taking a cue from Lynda Barry, I drew today. When my kids noticed what I was up to, they begged to join in, and Jacob drew his own picture, too.
|Lynda Barry said, " Draw a car. Draw Batman."|
By this, at last, I know I am your mother---
More than the texture of your hair,
More than the similar blue stare
Of eyes as round as mine, this proves no other
Could be the root that nourished your small petals.
Your mind was not intense to trace
A cartwheel of a clock's clear face,
Not woods' hard surfaces nor gleaming metals.
Close to the blank grey paper you attended---
The busy spider of your hand
Scuttled and schemed, and squirmed and planned,
Till from the crayon's golden stub descended
The faint, familiar, delicate line.
So do you write yourself as mine,
Most strangely with your own hand you do homage
To what I see and love and serve,
The silvery vein, the fine-spun nerve,
The silken bone of some frail beauty's image.
|When Jacob was done, he asked for it back to, "add arms."|