Margaret Diehl
I used to be a poet. Now I draw and paint.
I think I always wanted to.
I start small.
You can paint on a Band-Aid
or the back of a grocery receipt.
You can ink an entire Chinese landscape
on the eyelid of a cat while he’s sleeping
or your beloved’s nakedness
as detailed as a Leonardo
with a soft red pencil
on the inside of your knee.
Phone call from the traumatic ex
with the pillow lips.
I dreamed we were back together
and I was happy again, donkey-headed.
Rain pummels the window.
Still, there could have been nothing.