when I was a young girl,
I met a very, very old man
with a beard of colors
named Art.
he held out his hand
wrinkled, shaking, and just
barely grasping a brush
“hold on to this for me, my dear”
and then he
disappeared
when I was thirteen,
a naive artsy thing
I met a young man
named mr. Write.
he wrote me poems
every tuesday just because
it was tuesday
until the day he wrote
“betrayal is too strong a word,
for what I do to kids like you”
he tucked a pen behind my ear
then disappeared
when I was twenty-five,
the universes aligned
and in that split of a second
our eyes met
and this feeling like oil
meeting water for the first time,
a slow churning glide down the
back of my spine…
he smiled
“I think I’ve been looking
for you for a while.
hi.
I’m Design.”
