My Art, My Future

Put pen to paper

And then decide—

Loopy, pretty, bold—

But always legible—

But legible for whom?

Ideas flow through veins

From heart to wrist

To fingertips—

And then,

With a bang,

Comes a baby crying—

A sign of new life

And new health.

Fold it, package it, send it,

Kiss and caress it as you wait.

And then,

With a bang,

Comes a sign of a newer life.

A book

Bound with a spine

That only rivals the brave author’s.