Anoint

A crow with a broken foot

mended it himself

flew back to his clutch of pines

Questioned his style

and transformed into a painted bunting

All the while

I shouted my encouragement

There is no hue on me

no viridian green

nor cobalt blue

nor pumpkin orange

maybe a dappling of shame red

no defined palette of colors, though

Because

I’ve been busy

being someone else

for somebody else

and I don’t know how to stop

being lifelike

yet not alive

With what do I anoint

my grey canvas?

How do I lively up

this stretch of gessoed cotton?

Can the crow show me how

by adding his purple-black talon print?

Is it too late to grow fingerprints

that finger-paint can cling to?

How do I step on wet grass

paintbrush in hand

and begin my green mile?