My friend Sam
I enter an oval corridor
circles of distant murmurs.
Each vertical nook
is a Munch painting.
Peg-leg Stella hunching
gown open
sidetracked
in her drawer
of sagging memories.
Rose smiles with a frown.
The view outside her window
is only an illusion.
She pastes a magazine scrapbook
birds flowers children.
She loves children
takes her teeth out
grabs little hands
as though some magic
will escape through pores.
I look out the mindless glass
orange leaves
crumbling
divorcing
branches.
Closing my eyes tight
I pretend not to notice
the smell of a rose.
Opening my eyes
there’s Sam’s Chair
his needle
penetrates burlap,
red, blue violet tapestry
deftly designed
oceans of beauty
discounted and excused
as an old man’s ramblings.
His heart beats a rhythm
out of sync;
his words are pregnant
his touch
annointed.
A brillo beard weaves strands
of ink and yellow
among supper’s crumbs.
Deep creases surround
thalo blue blue eyes.
Where have you been? he asks.
I’ve been busy…
I need white and heavy green,
white for the ceiling,
green for the heart
and black too.
For what?
Everything.
Sam- 1995 Oil on Canvas
My friend Sam
kattstrafford
kattpoetry 