That Place I Go

I was once the muse

on the wall

life-sized and daunting,

the tiny dancing girl

on the tiny square canvas,

the spinning image

through the lens

I was the muse

by the window

silent, still, listening to

the scratching pencil,

the toss of paper

left to fall over the easel

The muse

with the green skirt

spread across the grass,

squatting nude on the stretched black cloth,

running dirty and barefoot

in the torn wedding dress

I was an idea of me

captured,

held,

created

in pixels

and heavy oil paint