One Poem // 1.15.18

Full, Enough

If I could paint well
Well, I couldn't paint that
the cold—the new old paint:
something-green; the stairs;
and red tin roofs (nothing-red /
port-pink) The train's come through
fluorescent-blue—ice-white I think
Walking down, the track
My jacket, coat,
My breath, I couldn't paint.



A poem I wrote yesterday; the line "the new old paint" comes from Susie Timmon's book of poetry titled the same. I sent along the poem to Timmons on Facebook; she has not responded, but sent me a friend request, which I am deciding is a good sign.