How to Love Your Art
Clear out a room in your house.
Wipe the windows (there must be
several), paint the walls
a color with a poetic name,
chartreuse or amaranth,
something alive.
Take your art into it, say,
“here you are.
I made this for you.”
It may take some time,
but watch how it transforms
the space, what strange plants
begin to grow from the floorboards,
the writing the sun etches
upon the walls. Your art
is a prism. The light
bends, becomes
something different, liquid.
It is like a room full of water.
Do not be alarmed
when it begins to creep
under the door. Let it spread
like a beautiful fungus.
Notice a luminscent inkblot stain
on the kitchen ceiling.
Let it take over your house.
Let it into your lungs like dust,
drink it from the banisters
to quench the thirst it creates.
Do not be afraid
when people notice a change.
Smile. Breathe in their discomfort
with the stories you are transforming
within you, staining them new colors.
Be true. Remember the room,
hold the word shelter
in your heartpocket. Smile
from your overgrown home.
Let each action you make speak –
“here you are.
I made this for you.”