The Conundrum

The Conundrum

The artist groped through the paint 
Trying to see

With her fingertips 
The things she could not say

The more she could see 
The less she could say so

She spoke in whispers 
Even to her secret self

Asking, where does the paint 
Want to go?

The paint drifted about the canvas 
Like waves on a lazy boat

Lapping here 
Landing there

Landing nowhere 
In particular

The artist played
The game she learned long ago pretending

Her brush was deaf 
Her fingers mute

And the game of smiling 
When it was not called for

She stopped the brush 
To catch her breath often

Asking, where does the paint 
Want to be?

The more she could say 
The less she could see so

She spoke in whispers 
Blaming paint

Even to 
Her secret self.

c. 2007 Triada Samaras (revised 2025)

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