India ink harpoons its way into fabric

Strung around alabaster bone,

Staining an olive cloth with polychromic significance,

Injecting an artist’s rendering of alternative beauty

Between the stitches

Of an otherwise ordinary material.


And the canvas draped down the side of my neck

Bends toward the needle

Stationed between veteran fingers,

Tissue yearning to quicken the rate of absorption,

Faster, so that

This masterpiece can be displayed in exhibition

For the ordinary world to consider.


This canvas,

Blank – clear

That conventional parents threaded

And time blemished into ordinary imperfection,

Will irrevocably bear witness to

The colors, the fluidity,

The extraordinary vibrancy that is and will always be

Indicative of me.