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  • Writer's pictureShane

Peggy Anderson's Art Room

Rusty tricycle,

bent and old,

longing for the happiness it once received

as children flocked to its presence.

He can almost see their innocent smiles,

feel their excited touch and hear their

simple laughter

but is rushed to reality as his sigh

breaks through

the vision of past days.

Now with broken dreams,

it sits here

with others;

others that miss what they used to be.

A tattered lawn mower hangs with rust,

casting a dark shadow on the wall,

reflecting his mood.

Dull, bent blades,

no longer stained with the color of

freshly shredded grass.

Torn wheels,

Torn bag,

Torn soul.

An old gasoline can,

hoping for fumes,

searching the corners of himself for a trace,

for evidence that once,

years ago,

someone embraced his efforts.

Rays of sun peer through a small crack in the curtained window,

forcing light to rest quietly,

unable to penetrate

the darkness created by the

unforgiving dent

piercing deep into the cold metal.

A weathered suitcase

on the side wall

ornamented with leather braids

weaving anxiously

until they break and tear

leaving patches of dull, worn surface.

The latches fail to connect,

the tired wheels

struggle to support

and the handle lays frozen

in its uncomfortable pose.

Here the suitcase sits awkwardly,

remembering the days when it traveled,

when it saw the world.

Now it stares at the wall,

day after day,

emptiness its only content,

dust its only friend.

A bell sounds

and students chaotically enter the room

and arrange themselves

among long, black tables that rest on the tiled floor.

Relief echoes as they enter

the place

where they all somehow fit in.

Sketchpads emerge,

canvas is brought from the back room

and a variety of mediums are displayed.

A careful eye

travels confidently

through the room.

A timid hand lifts a few well-used colored pencils

out of a tin box.

With a few creative strokes,

color is found in the patches of rust

that decorate an old tricycle.

Color and beauty that the tricycle thought was lost forever.

The talent of another is focused upon a dingy gasoline can,

the dent catching his attention.

Perhaps the faint light

reflecting off the tattered metal

creates hope in a depressed heart.

Purpose rediscovered.

The suitcase finds himself on a journey unlike any before.

He enters a world of paint and canvas,

a world more glorious than Paris after hours.

The lawn mower, now hangs brilliantly in a wooden frame,

bringing variety to an otherwise lonely, plain wall.

Items that were once dead

are now alive.

On paper they find peace,

in art they find new discoveries

and everyone finds

something worth finding

in Peggy Anderson’s art room.

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