Self Portrait

It starts as a want, a need

an itch that has to be scratched

and the rest of the world fades away.

Without thinking,  

‘Am I dressed for this?’

‘Should I be doing something else?’

You sweep away the clutter

Eyes closed you reach in deep for the bones,

tracing their contours with your mind,

drawing them to the surface

so you may lay them out upon the paper.

Millimetre by millimetre,

mark by mark,

adjusting position and form.

Stroking the canvas

until the briefest elements of life appear

and its desire to be nurtured.

Mixing cadmium red, and yellow,

Titanium white, a hint of ultramarine blue

you pull flesh from the paint,

nuances of colour, round peaches and pinks

plump reds, sunken purples.

Layer upon layer you caress the bones

until she appears

emerging from the canvas

eyes watching you

asking to be made whole.