painting the blues
for days I have been trying to paint
how I feel about the colour blue
five luscious jars smile a Mona Lisa smile
their contents liquid sky
congealed ocean
forget-me-not soup
sapphire custard
distilled midsummer midnight.
squirted on a plate the blues sing
scooped onto my brush they die
gasping for air, fish pulled from the seven seas
and yet
the blue walls of the Alentejo
brushed on each spring by the broad hand of some worker
slapping paint between smokes
pulled from the indigo depths of his dungarees
pulse and shimmer to a hidden beat
even the drips and splashes on the pavement
ring a rhythm
and then
a sudden rainstorm
washes the dust from the chicory flowers
steadies my hand
forms puddles at my feet and coaxes
the blues into bloom
softly, slowly, in a minor key
mutabilia 