I don't paint.
But tonight, in the crowd.
Amid the drunk beards and the gentle, bobbing women.
With cell-phones seen raised in the air from every angle and every perspective.
While five men in hats danced and sang on a stage.
Light beamed from their faces and the ground shook with every kick of the drum.
My father on one side, my sister on the other.
My body moving left and right.
My hand on my chest and my lungs on fire
My eyes closed and my chin up.
I wore a sweater with a paint stain on the sleeve.