Artist’s Statement
I build walls with ripped up cups paper
bags & postcards add charcoal & rage
ink & regret. I hope for the tiger’s
arrival (or owl or lumbering rhino)
to tremble your gaze quaking
color & disclosure. Such a small room
this white page for blue-black & yellow
in teeth & gowns. I put wings
on the tiger. The angel wants grass
beneath her toes speaks on difficult
issues of ascension. She condescends
to the tiger whose earth-muscle
heats this scene. She is the better
hunter. More bitter. Hungrier.
20 Moor Street, 1934
I share this room with Reny
and Wilfred who go to work
before I get up.
This morning I hear Maman talking
to baby Paul through the floor grate
and Papa not speaking English
before he leaves to cut down trees all day.
I like our house even though
my little sister Jo
died here. I like all my sisters
especially Rita and I like this bedroom
full of curse words
and smoke. When I get home from school
I draw stars on the wall behind the dresser
with the soft pencil
I took from the art supplies Sister Francis
handed out. It’s a sin to steal
but I couldn’t help it.
I hum Maman’s floating song
wishing for deep blue and yellow
as I smudge over
the pink wallpaper roses. I draw Jupiter’s
moons like in the book Sister
showed us.
I give the biggest moon Papa’s eyes
sketch stars thick as his freckles.
When the door slams
and onions sizzle and the first step creaks
the stairs I push the dresser back
my sky almost hidden.
20 Moor Street, 1940
Willy and Ikie and Ray serious and laughing
work in the paper mill.
Right now, they’re making a bench
and shelves for the shed.
Me I’m making a new rocker for Maman.
I love how the pine gives in