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POETRY AND ART
Poetry by Patricia Wellingham-Jones
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Art Print with Poem, 2004
Charcoal Drawing by Heather Lockie, Poem by Wellingham-Jones
Don’t Turn Away
We’ve had our drinks, our plural dates,
talked about everybody we ever knew.
Shared many kisses, the last of them
deep, rubbed aching bodies
against each other.
Now you want to undress me.
I don’t know if I can bear it.
Sometime back, I told you
about the phony lump in my bra.
But soon, your warm hands will slide
along my ribs, unhook the flesh-colored lace,
gather me in for a long hug. Then,
when you step back and run your eyes
over my one nipple, across the dented
healing slash, up to my face,
will I see on your skin
the ripple of revulsion, a strained smile,
the cooling of heat?
Or will the softness in your eyes
bring tears of thanks to mine
as chest hair tickles scar tissue
and the northern lights flash?
©2000 Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Published in Lummox Journal, 2001;
Don’t Turn Away: Poems about Breast Cancer, 2000
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Painting and Poem, 2004
Painting by Jeff Fennel, Poem by Wellingham-Jones
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Plein Air
“Mouth of the Canyon” by Jeff Fennel, 2004
Out Hogsback Road
as far as he can go, he tucks
the truck in star thistle
out of the way,
strides across lava rock, potholes, cowpats
to the edge of the canyon.
Far below, Antelope Creek races.
His gaze drifts east to Mt. Lassen,
west where the valley spreads grey.
Dawn light filters across the Sierras,
shafts through left eye to brain
in a sneeze.
Setting up the folding easel,
he places the canvas, opens a tin
box of oils. Disappears
into pure existence.
The linen surface is spattered
with brown blobs then, with bold sweeps,
rocky canyon land appears on the canvas.
In a line of cobalt blue, Antelope Creek
pours through boulders.
The artist steps back from the painting
into his body. He nods once.
Packs up his gear, carries the still-wet canvas
between careful fingers to the truck.
Heads into his other-life day.
©2004 Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Published in Ink and Ashes, 2004
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