For Deb Eastwood
I. You are like those swallows
that migrate across vast oceans,
brave, resilient, tiny birds,
heavy with the scented mystery of Africa
and winging towards some European eaves.
II. “I like them. I love their vibrancy,”
said the woman in the cafe
where your paintings hung.
“I know the artist,” I said,
“she's a lovely person.”
As if my excitement at seeing your work
out in the world
could hope to capture the complexity
of your art and life.
Vibrancy, I couldn't have said it better myself.
To feel joy for your joy
was a tantalising glimpse of nirvana.
III. You showed me your photos.
“That's my ex,” you said
without a vestige of discomfort.
I felt honoured to be admitted
to the celebration of who you are.
The poet wishes to acknowledge Valley Micropress in whose pages this poem first appeared.
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