Soft canvas

It is a soft canvas you compose upon;
swirl your dipped finger along
and gentle, leave your mark
in a palette you and the canvas
will know.

Straw grass, and sunset across the park
where long-limbed baseball
boys play into
summer, the canvas
slowly collects the sky,
and washes you across it.

There is no not you:
the trees, the children,
the late evening cut grass
and iron-railed front porches laden
with memories among the begonias.
The city edges away,
all colours stirring to you.

The sirens incite and cry.
You arc and brace among them,
blending soft edges and hues,
kissing the canvas alive.

~ Philippa Dowding

Philippa Dowding is a copywriter and poet, living in Toronto. Her poetry has appeared in MotherVerse Magazine, The Adirondack Review and online at Her first publication, a novel for children, will appear Spring, 2009.

Leave a Reply