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Her Father’s Critique by Steven L. Peck

by Patricia | 4.26.11

She painted herself
into the landscape. On
a canvas she had
magicked from deep-self,
April sunlight streamed
from the clouds
in spectacular, uncanny, rays—
immaterial matter,
soul stuff made flesh.

She brought it to her
father who pointed out
how she should have
painted the sunbeams with
more yellow—
pointing to a maudlin
mountain scene,
hung ceremoniously on
a well-manicured wall—
an oil anyone could have techniqued
with hackneyed accuracy. That’s
how it should be done he said, then
turned away.

He missed the remarkable
enchantment of his
little girl capturing light mixed with
quintessence and vital
spirits
spilling onto canvass.

Unable to penetrate
his cataracts,
she spread Platinum White
over the surface
and put down her brushes.

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To read Steven’s bio and more of his poems published on WIZ go here, here, here, here, and here.

*contest entry*

1 Response to Her Father’s Critique by Steven L. Peck

  1. Patricia

    Many of us have hit these walls. For me, it was a high school guidance counselor.

    The last stanza especially affects me.

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