The Critic and the Muse
I heard a whisper in the night:
“You must not sing.”
I asked, “Why not?”
and so I sang –
louder than a siren, warbling off-key,
yet the melody chimed like nirvana to my ears.
I sang to an audience of myself
as my heart burst open and filled itself with light.
The sky thundered:
“You must not write.”
and so I wrote –
filling every page with cross-outs and rhymes,
scripting events from my reel of imagination.
I wrote until my pen ran dry, then reached for another,
knowing a new story begins when the previous one ends.
A scream rang out:
“You must not paint!”
I stood fast
and painted –
speaking the language of color through brushstrokes,
bringing canvas to life, the starry night into dawn.
I painted so the world could see itself,
and when I stepped back to study my work,
I could see my soul.
Then I listened –
and heard only silence.
© Sara Letourneau 2013
Published in the 40th Anniversary edition of the the Curry Arts Journal
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