She sat down
I put the page in front
She merely stared
And painted a sea with teardrops on the shredded wood.

I passed along,
Pencil, charcoal, all that needs free
She sniffed, 'Better?' she said,
'I will feel better?'

Taking up her shivering white pencils
Of thin frail fingers, gripping graphite
Scratch, scratch, like a cat
Wanting to leave a locked room

The grey became black
The dust became mountains
And, she saw in here her life
As the clouds became rains

'But look', I put in
'Look what suns I make,
With a caring hand' I
Pushed a finger into the depths

A sunny print came out

Lisping, she rasped her breath back
And put a hand to the black dirt of the breaking
And made a hand-print;
Simple, like her delight

'You will learn to make
Suns of the shadows,
You will learn to make
Smiles of the silences

Your lines will be straighter
Your circles more graceful,
More curved to your *****
More jagged, if you wish.'

I smiled and she nodded
And watched her last tear fall,
Splashing down with tidal forces of sorrow on the page
An artist was born.