Happy Little Tree

A Poem by Erin Kateri

the frustrations of Waiting in a society that isn't

She takes out a blank canvas,
unhampered potential,
and fixes it on the easel.
Perfect.

She squeezes color onto the pallet.
Yellow, red,
blues.
Inhaling richly
the fumes of the paint.

She builds a landscape:
a field, a lake,
a distant forest, foreboding,
a sunset
with clouds of purple.

A swan swims on the lake,
surrounded by ripples,
and it sings.

She lifts her brush
and sets it down.
Lifts it again,
ready to begin
the heart
of her masterpiece:
an oak tree,
wrought with such careful preparation,
it was destined for beauty
and greatness,
surrounded by such perfect circumstances
this tree could grow tall
without trouble
in the sight of all creation,
in this little Eden
she’d created.

And as she moves the brush
toward the canvas,
the studio door
is opened.
A flood of family, friends,
parading prints of the piece
she’d yet to paint,
purchased for pennies
at a picture printing place.

And it is with struggle,
that she lifts her brush
again.
There will be no praise
for this masterpiece.
It’s already been done.
Only criticism remains,
why it took her so long
when there are instant prints.

No support,
no encouragement,
no applause when its complete.
But slowly and sadly
and amid the noise of her
once silent studio,
she finishes her painting.