Something New

The bridge between my finger and my thumb

Is cramping --

I've been sketching the same image for far too long.

Perhaps I could draw someone new.

I smooth the paper with smooth hands,

Unsure of how to begin.

Her eyes are not the same light hazel,

And I am unfamiliar with the sharper curve of her cheeks.

But as I crosshatch and fill in her edges,

I realize these pale emerald eyes

Are framed by something beautiful.

I stare for a moment at my ponderous pile of old drawings,

A collection of identical images obsessively repeated.

I nudge the stack of sketches to the side

To clear a place in this cluttered life of mine --

To clear a place for her.