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