Laundry calls out
Dishes call out
And an empty refrigerator.
Getting back from being away is detrimental.
To your muse.
To your ability to focus on what really matters.
I have canvas stretched.
I have toned the edges.
I have laid out brushes (caressing them)
Palette knives (scraping them for bits of leftover color)
Color palette ready
and buckets of paint
tubes of paint
and tubs of paint.
It all sits and stares at me.
It all reaches out to me
and begs me to just begin.
But the laundry just chimed.
The dishwasher is done.
Dinner needs planning.
And my paints get very very nervous.
Will we be forgotten today?
Will we be left for another moment.
Another time.
Will we be rinsed from the last strands of brushes
waiting too for their turn.
Will we just have to sit and wait and
not feel the liquid swirled around us.
And the spreading of our tonal changes all around each other?
Will this wait for tomorrow while laundry is folded
and dishes are stacked.
Will all of us pigments just wait
and try not to cry out?
