• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 01
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Glovemaker’s Collection For Artists

He stands calm and aloof from
his creation, the
angry man who stares
out at him, red cloaked
from the canvas.
Blue gloves on relaxed hands
rest on the rail behind,
keeping distance between
his hands and the canvas.
On the marble table
in front I see
gray, dust covered gloves
likely made for and worn by a sculptor.
Where is his creation?

Each pair of the many gloves
pegged onto the wall behind
was crafted for a creator—
paintings, sculptures, photography.
Perhaps one pair is mine.
Without gloves, we poets
stain our hands with ink,
our sweat and oils leave
marks on keyboards.
We have no distance
from our work.


Glovemaker’s Collection For Artists

With gloves I could
shout out from a distance,
make a mark without leaving one,
close in on my creation;
yet remain aloof.
Perhaps I shall reach in
to grab the working pair with stars.
Will they fit?
Did he make them for me?
Yes, gloves could give me all of
that. I hope he has a pair for me.