Monet on Her Mind

The invisible hand sketches orange swirls,
The dusk canvas of sky is alive.
She has heard of the painting Dusk in Venice, having never seen it.
Memories paint her eyes—Arabian Ocean at low tide,
the damp weight of her skirt, warm, salty evenings.

The arch of that Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies,
She never saw it in a museum,
but walking home in the rain among trashed Sal leaf plates,
One morning, she saw an accidental budding—
a pink lotus in a swamp.

When she rode her bicycle on the tar-scented road, 
going home from school, past cows in the meadows and
grimy street children, she saw a Haystack at Sunset 
left by a farmer. She wonders if the sunset in Giverny 
is more spectacular, but she believes what her eyes tell her.

Memories of those accidental splendors light up the night sky.
Her mind is a gallery of memories. Bright colors on canvas.
Her fingers on the walker.

Pratibha Kelapure is a poet from California. She has been published in many literary magazines. She is the editor of an online poetry journal, The Literary Nest and holds an MA in English from SNDT University in Mumbai.