Poetry – Page 4

Projection by Baylee Sidden

You can look inside an image
at a home that was never yours, 
at a snow-covered town
with ice filling its contours 
where you've never been warmed by a fire
under roofs, the color of copper gone sour
after being exposed to the world 
for too long.

You can long for the crown
of a white steeple where
you've never sung a hymn,
never knelt, head bare,
praying - in pain or in joy, 
you get to choose.
It is a mural after all.

Perhaps the painter stopped
when she saw this view,
set up her easel,
took out the reds and blues, 
and tried to capture this feeling,
so that others could share this home, too.