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"Old" by Liza Ezhevskaya of

Pain and Painting

No wonder pain and painting have so much in common:
The root is the same.

Because what drives the hurts
Drives the words.
Because you take something from the inside – out
Like teeth.
You bleed.

When I pain, I hurt –
Dripping red from my heart onto the bloody page.
A canvas stretched on wood, taught, like the nerves you could pluck.
With oil dripping off my brow
As I labor, as I pain.

Blues of solitude.
Dusty sand tones spread across strips of longitude.
Of alonegitude.

In blue – I see you.
I only longed to bask in your love.
But the blue in your eyes,
Like the blue in your veins,
Strums my arteries,
Leaving grayish blue stains.

No wonder pain and painting have so much in common.

Because the yellow I see reflecting in her smile
Is brighter than the sun, in my daughter.

Adulterated by fear.

Because the agony of the possibility
Of a certain absolute certainty
Is intolerable…
I hide under a blanket of white stars falling.
Their hyperbolic trajectory
Curves into shapes, letters,
A mouthful of rain
With which I pain.

If only I could see.

But I can’t see that well.
My eyes are swollen.
Outside the stars have fallen.
It is dark.

And then at night
I paint with words.

"Bit of Land" by Liza Ezhevskaya of

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