Brushstrokes

Lots of happenings, all combined? I guess, yes.

Too much in all of this a sense of calm, dilution, between the whorls of fingerprints 

left on windowpanes, outside where the world turns and flows much like the time 

we travelled the length of the Kaikoura coast, anxiously waiting for the spume 

of whales to breach air and daylight. You told me I should never break 

Unless I mean it in all dimensions: the physical, the emotional, 

the immaterial, all in sullen blue, with streaks of marigold, ground shellac 

and varnish our landscape and easel, one I would paint your body with 

until nothing else glows and nothing else is the same because 

This destination always becomes a well-worn pair of jeans, a faded buckle, 

the taste of cinnamon and cloves scraping the air. You, scattered yet motherly, 

moon and ova, the penumbra and corona where soil and water meet, where 

traces of sky and fire is our only escape, where hemispheres clash 

And destroy what is left 

of winter leaving this canvas. 

Reviews

[Lydia]

This blows my mind. It's so descriptive in a way that doesn't leave you with a certain picture or image, but rather like the title, it is a story painted in brushstrokes that is not the easiest to visualize or even comprehend. I really enjoyed this piece. The flow of it is like the ocean, completely natural, and I appreciate finding that in poetry.

[Emily B]

it's beautiful, Jason, winter and summer, north and south, physical and emotional, quite a clash! but what a beautiful painting . . .

[MagiCrystal]

Love Abstract colors.. love the soft and the flow.. love your poem.. a lot