If, poem by Emma Cottrell

    If . . .
    I were an artist, I would
    paint a portrait of my daughter.

    I would gather paints of pure colors,
    Alizarin Crimson, Blue, Yellow,
    Titanium White, Ivory Black;
    a pristine white canvas,
    conjure up images of infant, girl, woman,
    run them through my mind’s eye
    like digital blurs from silver cameras:
    struggle to portray the fire,
    courage,
    nobleness,
    the intangible aura of this Psyche
    with hair the color of old gold coins,
    flesh warmer than marble but
    with all its translucence, her spirit
    flying from the canvas with such impact
    as to leave the viewer stunned. And the eyes -
    blue as Mediterranean water -
    limpid, penetrating, unerringly nailing
    the destructive baggage within our hearts.

    She would seem to be stepping
    from the frame which holds her, illuminated
    by the golden thread she spins
    to scatter darkness from our paths;
    a prismatic light passing through the spectrum
    of our lives, balancing our needs
    on the crystal scale she carries in her hands.

    It may be impossible to capture her essence
    with the stroke of a brush, a palette of earthy colors,
    but if I were an artist, I would try,
    and I would want her portrait in a museum,
    her gaze holding generations who stare and wonder,
    “Who was this woman? Did she really live?”



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