A World that is Mine Erin Welsh
Paint me a world that is mine, where the canvas is molded from copper prairie clay. Sponge the nectar of the goldenrod across the sky and speckle the carpet with river moss. Baptize your brush in the icy falls, then
Poetry 88
dribble the song of the yellow-bellied meadowlark. Waft the humid stench of sweet corn under the nose of whitetail does. Squeeze a single, milky tear from golden poppies to taste the passion of far off lands. If the valleys hug the peaks, can the oceans reach as well? Or must I break my canvas into pieces to feel the kiss of what I knew or what is now? Paint me a world that is mine, where the canvas is dipped in all the colors that I know.
Living Waters Review