Vocation

It's an addiction, said the other son,

the one who hated her. She made him dead

in her mind – though she wept deep, made him gone.

But was he right in that one thing he said?

Her art consumed her. She painted him red

with the face of a demon, to remind

herself how much he meant to be unkind.

It was a necessity for her: art.

(Yet, was it addiction? Or did he blind-

side her – a cold wind that froze her whole heart?)