Photo by Mark de Jong on Unsplash
poem: The Painter
How do I answer
the call of canvas
when I have no hands
to spin light into paint
to sift sun and shadow
like yolk from its egg
cut empty spaces into stencils
flow form over frame
pluck magenta vibrations
from the centre of a clematis
pour petals through my limbs
in an ecstasy of hue.
As spring unpacks its saturated
palette I lie on a lounger
in my tangled garden live
inside the beating hearts
of purple hyacinths
campanulas let
soaring cypress branches
be my arms and fingers
become blue sky, cirrus clouds,
sunlit bees sink eager roots
deep into the fertile earth
as words bloom through me
like drifting seeds.
Lucy Whitehead is a disabled poet. Her work has been published in Amethyst Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Barren Magazine, Black Bough Poetry, Broken Spine Artist Collective, Burning House Press, Collective Unrest, Electric Moon Magazine, Ghost City Review, Mookychick Magazine, 3 Moon Magazine, Neon Mariposa Magazine, Parentheses Journal, Pink Plastic House, Pussy Magic, Re-side, and Twist in Time Literary Magazine. She lives by the sea with her husband and cat. You can find her on Twitter @blueirispoetry.
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 
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