The Painting Poem by Anitah Muwanguzi

Slim. Long. Tender fingers skim the surface,

the caress sure, a lover's touch

trembling palms bring the portrait close

her lips touch his.



The edges worn,

the hands that hold the portrait treasure it as though it were made

this day

even with eyes closed, even when struck blind,

this portrait she recognizes-

every curve, every blemish, every contrast, etched deep in her

heart, her soul



His slow, steady walk, the thoughtful light in his eyes,

his smile that sparkled, and burned like the sun in mid afternoon

melting her heart to stone

sinking into the worn floor, she crushes his memory in an

overpowering embrace

keep him close as she can



He, gone with the moody seasons.

She has held him this close through a thousand lives,

cherished him in dreams sweeter than ice cream,

trembled at the memory of his gentleness, his being-

him being her eyes, ears, hands, and feet

the world through his eyes



He loved, she loved.

he cried, kissed his tears away

together they laughed and found communion

From the divine, theirs was a love gifted from the heart of the

divine.



The Portrait she holds crushed into her skin

Alive, or dead,

Near, Far

The center of all her being