Hattie

She paints religious scenes, dabs around a glaze, echoes a thirty-year dream, regards a piece she’s honed, feels joy in this frame, it’s never set in stone, yellow shafts of sunbeams, cold studio's just the same, images she puts in scenes, the canvas could be foam, a stretch on wooden nails, nights before she goes home, a matchstick in the sea, bobbing without a flame, floating for eternity, her clothes hand me down, waits for end of day, drinks in this ocean town, her head nods in relief, dancing eyes can play, artists are never easy, all fail the ame.