Elena Venables

The Gift

It fell gracefully from your shoulders adorning a joyous spirit Its vibrant colours spoke of an artist we admired An artist, survivor of a childhood where language, tradition and culture were painted black A shattered palette breaths a portrait of resilience

You wore it loosely around your neck Around a body ravaged each week by cells painted in Scheel’s green A stolen future against a canvas of Hope

Your gift wrapped in hospital tape, with the harsh smell of antiseptics made sweet by your note A love poem “From my heart to yours”

Gwynn Scheltema

Pentimento

If we were a portrait, I wouldn’t feel you breaking my heart

If I were the painter I’d over-paint our picture, lay down layers of us dancing under paper moons and green tornado skies down dusty roads feet upon the earth always moving what’s behind us no matter

Diana at the Bar

I paint her perching on a bar stool, purple leatherette platform shoes and mini skirt giving just the right glimpse of skin or more—depending. She’s ordering her beer in-the-bottle-please so she can ring the brown neck in a round-mouth O cover it in flesh pink lipstick so she can slide those lips off—pop! Boys such easy prey talking Trans Am carburetors cigs rolled up in T-sleeves thinking they’re invincible in control until she has them ring shopping on Saturday.