Pomelette

The painter and the musician are lovers
I met them at the coffee shop on New Year’s Day
He had pried her from her studio, lank-haired and baseball-capped
I’ve been painting for days she explained
Since just after Christmas
Nothing since September
Now I’ve made 7 paintings and more coming out
Like vomiting, she said
But they don’t look like vomit he told me
They’re good

He said It’s something about Christmas
All that expectation
Tell her about the thing, you know, she said
No, you can tell her
No, you tell it better
So he said
Rising up to Christmas we run like lemmings
To nothing
Then it’s over
All that craziness then nothing
Nothing

So I walked home
Stretching the dog
Shaking off last night’s party
That was good, but no epiphany
Thinking
The pinnacles are there but not always where you think
There’s no planning for inspiration
Or engineered eurekas
Just a lot of walking up to nothing
Nothing
Knowing that sometimes
Something happens


Question: Where, when, how and why?

mompoet - walking