I had a sketch pad…
I had a sketch pad…
I had a sketch pad.
I had a sketch pad filled with empty pages.
White empty pages began to fill with colors.
Like Autumn’s leaves, the sketch pad
burst with hues—reds, yellows, oranges.
I had a sketch pad filled with faces
—Faces of passers-by.
I had a sketch pad that began to tell stories.
I had a sketch pad
—it was a wise guide.
I took my sketch pad to the one
whose approval I sought.
He held my sketch pad
and glanced at the pages.
He tossed it aside
—told me, “return it.”
He said if that is what I fill the sketch pad
with, it is a waste of fine paper.
I had a sketch pad.
I kept the sketch pad
and, for a long time, the colors died.
I had a sketch pad
with countless etchings
all in black and white.
I had a sketch pad
and chose to never ‘share’ the images
creating me.
I had a sketch pad
and the seed painted
in the black and white pages
burst through the cover.
I had a sketch pad
now filled with the sun.
Stars lit the matte
as green valleys washed
over the pages.
The wind became a song
singing from within the sketch pad.
The man who once told me to
return ‘me’
looked at the sketches.
He wept.
I had a sketch pad
and now I have many
(including a portfolio of creative images).
He has blessed every page
with his tears.
From heaven’s canopy,
I hear his voice while I am sketching,
“Fill the pages, fill the pages—
well done.”
Inspired by Joy Harjo’s poem, “she had some horses”
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