Le Artiste
for Donald
At the age of five
I ceased to be afraid of monsters under my bed
At the old house
My Uncle Donald, an artist,
Chased my brother and I for hours
It was a game
Laughter bubbled from our throats and
Bounced off the walls of our room and
Made a home under our beds
We fought with pillows
And hid
And sought
That weekend, you left us
And because I was five
I remember precious little
The deliciousness of not-real fear
Your shiny brown skin
Your wide and toothy smile
You seemed so tall
So invincible at seventeen
Your paintings still hang in the dining room
My mom, your heartbroken sister,
Remembers much more than I
I wish now that you and I could talk about art and
Bond over the capricious nature of the creative process
We would understand each other
I am grateful, Uncle
Because of you
I still believe that Laughter,
Not Monsters,
Lives under my bed
And I am brave
(c) Davita Joie 2016
I love this…This is so beautiful and I love how you put that moment of clarity at the end about your uncle teaching you that laughter instead of monsters lived under your bed when you were 5…
this is so profound!
Thanks again! I don’t know why I was writing about my aunties and uncles this time around, but that’s what came out. He was my mom’s youngest brother.
Beautiful. You are an amazing writer. Thank you for sharing your gift with others.
Thank you, love!! xoxo
I love these lines:
Because of you
I still believe that Laughter,
Not Monsters,
Lives under my bed
This is so poignant. I remember your uncle Donald so well and think of him and others who have gone from time to time.
it’s interesting. you cast a framework of imagery and then leave a lot to one’s imagination….
Donald, my young brother-in-law came to spend the week with us so we could celerbrate our birthdays together, he went golfing with me and my friends ,seem to be so happy visiting, he wanted to caddy for me but I knew he wasn`t feeling well and he went home early, that was the last time I saw him, he left us that following week.