THE PAINTER

(for lloyd walcott)

he came into

our home

with furrowed brows

seeking in his sister

the parent

he never had

this man              my uncle

looking nothing

like my mother

no ready smile

no burnt cork skin

just a tentative artist

who knew the smell

of the kitchen

the feel of a knife

that unfolds a cabbage

as well as acrylic brushes

on canvas

it wasn’t his desire

to prepare food

for the rich to savour

or to take on a wife

or sire sons & a daughter

who might need his support

all he really wanted

was to paint the landscape

so others might notice it

sketch tubby women

languishing under domesticity

carve gods from wood

and be an artist