by Gil Hoy
Last night I dreamed
the workers painting my house
Brought all of their children
to work in the morning
With brushes and buckets
of water, to wash and to clean
To scrub the faces, like paintings
on canvas, that had appeared
overnight on the walls of my house
Black faces, white faces, yellow
red and brown
Faces of every hue and tone
Every size and shape
And the children, all the while
washing and scrubbing
But never hurting the faces
And me, all the while
watching the children work
With a growing sense
of contentment
Coming from deep inside.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing