I stroke the threads and pluck a song.
Isolated,
This rock becomes my stage.
I'm anticipating the waves to return a melody.
Distracted from my work,
A voice calls to me.
I peer down upon him-
Pure and vulnerable.
His curiosity and persistence questions me for a name.
His eyes become large and eager.
I continue to strum the threads
And the waves increase
Smashing upon my stage.
My mouth parts to reply,
But my name is drowned out by the waves
And the last bubbles bursting from the final breath
Of a young man.
I rotate,
With my back to the sea
And pluck another sound,
Still waiting for the waves to return a melody.
Author notes
I wrote this afterschool. We had to write about a hypothetical story in a piece of art. This is about the painting of The woman on a rock looking down on the boy in the water.
Google search it
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Written January 8th, 2006
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