she's constantly moving
creating work for herself, wanting others to create work
complaining about it but secretly relishing every sock
every dish, every spill that is culled from minor artists hands
they are truly masters
able to evoke a masterpiece in the quick gesture of a hand
using a palette of laminate and two percent white as the medium
waving a wand of permanent color and forever
modifying a crisp white shirt
to fulfill the commissioned work
the seemingly involuntary creative period for these artisans
is quickly passing - soon to be replaced
with the neatness of repetitive motor skills
the secret wish of the mother
is that the next generation of artists
sit at the same accidental easel
while i stand in awe of them both
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