Watching Boston Harbor (a poem)
including a watercolor painting
To flee reality: I refuge in an elegance so fleeting — of the minor clouds that pause across the bay; Myself and waves around me wonder — how much more of “normalcy” remains? I have to take my pens, and break them in the fray. To flee reality: ignore the reddest blood that we can shrug at. Their corruption could melt the ice away — The birds and I are refugees from what could be, if people won’t be brave — The clouds are watching us, across the massive bay. They wait for floods in shades of gray, that purple on the skyline, and all the glowing clouds absorb the lack of our remorse. My scarf becomes a shield against the sea that rivals seaport; This may go underwater soon, and who's to say it won't? I think, along the shoreline. I watch the blue horizon. The quiet clouds float endless gray, and bring themselves to harbor. To flee reality — I come to drape my scarf like waves around my shoulders, while I watch the sea, and winter of the sky; The graphs have burned alive across the headlines: 1.5 degrees, and numbers simply ricochet — like edges of the water. I stand beside the harbor, taking refuge in a peacefulness misleading; and the wintertime arrives — to blue the sky.
Your poetry and painting become one! Watercolor is a metaphor.. like climate, it includes atmosphere, erasure, and accident.. technique only works within the whole composition. But it forgives and calls for action and is never quite complete.