Tulip magnolias lined up

To greet me yesterday

As I journeyed to the museum

To read a story

Painted long ago

By a woman

Who lived between brushstrokes

One canvas at a time

Rather than day by day.

Thresholds awaited her


It seemed to me

She struggled to cross them

So much left unfinished

By her own design.

Berthe chose to write with color

Yet blurring the edges

And leaving me to wonder why.

Ms. Morisot

Who did not take the name Manet

Was so much a part of two worlds

A daily one of women

A painterly one of men

Did one suit her more than the other

Did she feel more at home in here or out there.

I’m not sure.

I do know though

That in the end

I climbed the ladder of hope

The one she opened

And set in the garden

Near the fruited “Cherry Tree”.

So it is, I floated out the door

Back into the airy sunshine

Of real life

And there were again

the tulip magnolias.

Only this time

They were bidding me

a gentle farewell…


ellie894 March 23, 2019

8 thoughts on “one canvas at a time…

  1. I love the parallel between painting and writing. These lines made me think about how an artist might hint at something without really showing it, like words unspoken between friends:

    So much left unfinished
    By her own design.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I very much like the way you’ve taken the story even further while at the same time bringing it closer to home. It’s true, isn’t it. To have a friend who listens to the silences is a gift. Thank you for reading so insightfully. 🌷

      Liked by 1 person

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