Like a wild frangipani or an urban forsythia.
Mae, looking at your body, your hair,
These grown hands that hold her,
Will lean near your ear and whisper:
“You are not my only masterpiece,
But you are still one of mine.”
She takes a familiar brush out.
You know what comes next,
But even routines can teach
As we ponder whose arms
Will stretch out to embrace us from tomorrow,
Those galleries prepared for the wondering soul.
From Tanon Sai Jai, 2009