At Your Feet Ma
At your feet, Ma, my brush snakes,
And creates across the floor
The white lace of alpona – pure, ethereal and graceful.
And for your majestic adoration,
Vibrant reds, yellows, greens and blues
Fill in and stroke delicate leaves, petals and curlicues.
Then, as the floor sprouts to colorful life, I paint,
Feet planted between vines and whorls,
Back bent, silent, time and memories pirouetting.
Mates work, discuss, laugh, sing sometimes,
But I’m lost in you
Connected by my mother.
Years meander with my strokes, to the present - your gift -
Tears brim as I comprehend,
a self so flawed, bloodied.
The Least, brought today to address art at your feet.