Celester In Oakland

The bus was crowded
The air conditioning on the Greyhound
But the air was
Like the pot of gold
She always hoped to
Find in the new city
Her first time there
Her first time anywhere
Outside her life
In service
To her dream
She could finally go there
Finally see the bright shining city
Near the coast
Near heaven
Near the sea
No more meals alone in the kitchen
With the lawn mower
This was her journey
Her time
Her destination
Now in that mercy she could rest
And she slept the sleep of Gods

Seven Sketches

Seven sketches were all the artist had
Left in him before his death

And one by one his art pad filled with
Life passing before his eyes

Shining once again in the bright sunlight
He dove into his masterpieces

Born of his illness and his salvation
Weeping at the thought of putting down his brushes

With greatness he surveilled his reputation
And the critics who tore his dreams apart

When he knew that all that mattered
Was the tear in the eye of the patron

As the gallery announced closing time
And the workers steadily prepared for the next exhibit