In West Chester, Pennsylvania
I was at art class
so I could improve my drawings.
The weather was pleasant.
A soft breeze carried
the scent of teacher’s floral tea,
filling the entire house with warmth.
Art teacher went around
to each and every one of us,
guiding our pencil strokes.
She helped me add more
shadows, and more highlights
to the pear.
Her joy and friendliness
made art more vibrant,
and even more colorful
than it ever was.
I looked at the girl next to me–
a seven year old at art class
in a bad mood.
How?
I shook it off until I heard her
use the sharp, painful words:
“You just care about the money.”
About five minutes later,
her parents walked in
with disappointment in their eyes.
But at the time,
what they were saying was
white noise to me.
I was too focused on the pear–
the shiny, wonderful, green
pear.
I admired teacher’s steady hand,
and I wondered:
No matter how hard I try–
Why doesn’t my pear look
as realistic,
as detailed,
or as colorful as art teacher’s?
How strange.
I couldn’t make sense
of this feeling,
this realization. The fact
that the girl
right next to me looked
At the pear on the table,
And saw something different.
The girl next to me had unique experiences
from her own environment.
So, she saw things differently.
Before, the pear I drew before me
was just a bright green mass.
Now, I could see the different colors,
and the different shadows
that made it look real.
Art teacher’s house was beautiful
and lively. The warmth in the air
was just right to me,
but burnt others fingertips.
After leaving art class,
I was energized.
The spring air
in West Chester, Pennsylvania
was felt by me.
