The lady in the painting

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I can often feel the itch to write, just nagging at the ridiculously hard to reach point between my shoulder blades. The frustrating part of this is when I can't rope one single idea out of the clear blue sky and let my pen run with it. So, that's when I fall back on the talent and creativity of people in my circles and use one of their creations as a writing prompt.

David Quinn is a talented award-winning artist based in Co. Mayo Ireland whose piece titled, "Necklace" serves as my most recent creative inspiration. He's ever so graciously permitted me to link to his work here (what a lovely guy!):

Necklace, David Quinn, 2007, Mixed media on board, 70cm diameter
View this piece (and so many beautiful others) on his website

So now that you've had the opportunity to fall in love with this painting like I did, here's the poem I wrote:

Lady Like

It hurts to remember you
Your laughter feels like tiny bursts of flames licking across my skin
Your touch feels like a million paper cuts left in the wake of your trailing fingertips
What used to give me goosebumps now stings me

But this is life; c’est la vie
One stupid mistake
Two fingers of whisky
Three fingers on a ledge
But forever hopeful

Never totally prepared to defend my heart
My battle armor is deceiving
Looks like perfect hair and makeup
Two swipes of the blackest eyeliner
Three spritzes of the most romantic perfume
It makes you feel comfortable
It makes me feel confident
Then I rip apart the silky illusion with ten manicured nails on my dainty lady hands

My hands hurt from
Clutching these pearls
Oh how I wish I was clutching the back of your shirt
Soft thin cotton bunching up
In between my fingers
My wedding ring snagged a tiny hole
I can fix that later
Can you fix this now

We were quite the dazzling pair
Now I’m a single earring with no back
Cherry lip gloss with no lid in the bottom of a bag
This promise should have been set in stone
Like a 3 carat stone set in a platinum gold band
But instead I just wrote “xoxo” in the dust on our dresser
Memories caught in the cuffs of my jeans
Spilling out around my feet as I walk through the door

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