You sketched your death on a post it note,
Etched portrait laid in charcoal coffin,
Lined up your family to gaze in,
Their hands laden with the days shopping.
I sensed the irony of wry dry smile
Drawn in to hide your sadness,
Tender like the ink-press of a bruise,
I watched you ashen in your art room.
Hunch-backed you papered over your heart,
Breathed in the dust of your lonely art,
Watched particles rain down through sunlight,
And settle their last sad whisper.
Musty-smell filled and dried your throat,
Stole your voice, tore sugar-paper skin.
The chalk, first firm in your fingers, gave in
As you pressed your heartbreak into the cracks.
Moody blues tunes sing out your feelings,
You never did like your drawings
A ‘Beauty you’d always missed’,
Your talent, like the class, dismissed.
“insight: My Art Teacher was ill when I knew him, he’d play ‘Nights in White Satin’ by the Moody Blues during class and inspired this portrait.