Le Artiste (12)

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

8 thoughts on “Le Artiste (12)

  1. 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!

  2. 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.

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