Initially I did not plan
         a painting of a ladder
                  faithful to phantom 
                           noises before sleep
wearing a clean chemise
         beneath dirty shorts
                  under a worn abaya
                           in my pink slippers
with my red cheeks in the shop
         for spots of vitiligo
                  and smoothing of their
                           plump ragged history.
The canvas came bare
         as a bell before it’s struck
                  by brisk forced air
                           on open waters
or the blue wasp
         that loved me
                  when I was a child
                           with a sting to the pineal
scattering bars through light
         all the way to dark
                  faster than brush
                           leaks down my hand.

Vallum 15, 2 (2018)
online Vallum Poem Of The Week 25 March 2019