Head down,
Her new-copper-colored hair cascading
From the crown of her head,
Her face is hidden.
Markers and their caps
Are scattered everywhere across
The formica tabletop,
Their corpses-
Discarded casualties
Of the process.
The pigments have flown across the paper.
Dotted Circled Scribbled
The misfired ink on her hands
Pajamas and face,
An inevitability of her process.
As she works,
She sings her own accompaniment.
The soundtrack, a song about
Cheetos, An Upcoming Trip, Her Sister, Her Grandmother
To the tune of "Jolly Old St. Nicholas."
Finally it is done-
Another masterpiece.
Happy Mother's Day.
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