SPARK

Judy Zatsick
Window to Her Soul
Oil, 28 x 36 inches
Inspiration Piece

Window to Her Soul
By Laura Shovan
Response

Shadow of a blue dress moves like oil

on water.  Beyond the window,

I watch the cloud-curve of her spine press into

autumn woods, unaware of me. Her

shoulders rise up and curve, soul

stirring like a river. Her bones are made of words.

Her memories can’t be held by words.

They are slick as oil,

bent out of shape by the wind, rooting her soul

beneath the window-

less ground. Instead, her

mind sees colors. They are memory too.

The ground is on its side, to

blow its colors into the sky. Words

spin in the air. Orange, brown and beech call her,

leaves crisp with cold before they spoil

on the ground, blown against the window.

When she rakes them, it quiets her soul.

She is barefoot and the soles

of her feet press leaves flat, two

eyes underneath her — two windows

that need no words —

tell her leaf, crunch, smooth. Colors like oils

pressed from tubes she carries with her.

Why do I sit and watch her?

She’s nothing special – just another soul

kept upright by muscle, oxygen — the blood’s oil.

Should I invite her inside to

share a few words?

Should I open my window?

The leaves kick up again – it’s the wind. Oh,

I know I won’t call her.

If I spoke, the words

would break something, stop her soul’s

press into nature. Maybe I should go too,

walk in the woods, feel my feet on the soil.

Is this the window to my soul,

watching her blue dress fade into

an autumn palette of words, paper and oil?

See larger image.

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