Not Everyone's Art Poem by Ruth Sabath Rosenthal

Mastering the art of love, no easy matter.
My brush strokes naturally take wrong
turns, winding me up in one sticky corner

after another: First, Eddie X. His dolor
tainted my paintings beyond salvage. I moved on,
the art of loving him, too gray a matter.

Next, Jerry Y, worst piece of work I’d ever
endeavored — but for our daughter and son,
whom he sent running to my corner.

Shortly after, Alfred Z inspired me more
than painting ever had. I penned a song
in AZ’s honor: “Loving You Is All that Matters.”

That, no hit with his family, I hit canvas with color
piled thick, painted harder, faster, over objection.
Disaster! In the mother of all dark corners,

in the Thick-As-Thieves Gallery, right near
the exit sign, an unsigned portrait of me hung:
my likeness (Write it!) — a deer in the brush cornered.
And, to boot, a Post-It that reads: “You Don’t Matter! ”