My intermediate watercolor class at Trilogy gated community is dwindling as many snowbirds fly north. Nevertheless there were a few for this Monday’s class and we painted a nursery scene, based on a couple of stuffed animals that hide in my cupboard on a little rocking chair that was once the subject of a commission.
The class all did a great job, though I think they perhaps started to understand the benefits of working in a larger format – some of their paintings had some really tricky tiny details to achieve.
Possibly because I was an only child (come to think of it, my parents never corrected that so I still am) I learned to play well – and bond – with inanimate objects. And I guess I really appreciate having two feet because I nearly lost one. Anyway, this poem is based on a true story. Have fun!
The Lost Sock.
She watched for a year. She hoped he would be found in the bottom of another laundry basket trapped under the agitator hiding in a sleeve.
Each laundry day she lay patiently at the front corner of the sock drawer watching reunited couples being tossed back into their communal nest swapping tales of stubbed toes and bird perched on their clothespins; swinging in breezes, warmed in the sun, counting clouds and feeling refreshed, of getting lost inside a pillow case.
She waited and hoped.
Then one day a ring slipped from the woman’s hand into the waste disposal.
The woman fetched a flashlight and tongs. Fishing for the ring, wondered What is this brown lump in the corner?
Pulled out the body filthed and shredded elastic stretched to the width of a thigh rips in places toes never make holes.
The woman goes to the sock drawer and tells the other sock the sad news.
He may have been trapped for some time but once I hit the grinder he would never have known what happened.
No, you cannot see him remember him as he was in life sharing feet swapping shoes and lying soft and fresh in the drawer his cuff folded around you.