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Brushwork

He wet the paper to start,
applied the yellow green wash
of a New Jersey summer.

Wet on wet for zinnia and cleome,
burnt umber and cadmium orange—
a border for the vegetable garden

where he painted mammoth zucchini for me
to discover, golden raspberries amidst the red,
green beans fresh off the vine.

He used a fan brush for the feathery dill
I leafed through for caterpillars—
anise smell on my fingers for hours.

With the tiniest brush, he striped
the Tiger Swallowtails I learned
to hold prisoner—

gentle pinch of wings,
mosaic scales
smooth on my fingertips.

A broad line for the cherry tree trunk,
dry brush for its lenticels—
little windows to breathe.

I swung my leg over the lowest bough,
perched for hours with a book
while he weeded below.

With age, he removed the corn
and sunflowers with a dry brush tip,
added more lawn,

with paper towel, lifted a fairy circle
for my best friend and I
to dance our enchanted rounds.

I was a teen when the belly
of his brush painted thick lines—
a porch swing under my cherry tree.

More and more he swung alone,
dirt-stained knees and a martini,
took in his masterpiece—

my childhood, his greatest yield.
It was only after his death
that I removed the masking tape

holding down the paper,
slowly pulled backwards
to a time of crisp white margins.

—
Caroline N. Simpson’s chapbook, Choose Your Own Adventures and Other Poems, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2018. In 2020, Delaware Division of Arts awarded Caroline an Established Artist Fellowship in Poetry, and she has been nominated several times for a Pushcart Prize in both poetry and nonfiction. She teaches high school English at the Wilmington Friends School in Wilmington, DE.

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