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KAREN KOVACIK
LEARNING TO DRAW
Leonardo! I'm learning to see
in fractions: the body in eighths,
the face in quarters, under the heavens
we are geometrical. Tomorrow
I will speak Chinese, spend the slowness
of the morning watching two glass jars
until my face feels like a prism. I
will be precise: sky, water, the wings
of the birds I hate
will no longer be blue but periwinkle,
slate, even jay; berries won't be red
but russet; the walls not white
but eggshell or tusk. Warm colors
creep up close, cool ones stand aloof.
That is why the sky keeps its distance,
says Pavel, my teacher. In his language
sky and heaven are the same word. Not
here in the rust belt. Orange sky,
burning rivers, the art god in the streets
smiling on taxicabs and colas.
Not all roads lead to Florence or China.
My hand swerves on the intricate
rose of the compass. I will never
be ancient, but my teacups will sit
in their saucers, and my frogs any moment
will leap off the page.
* * *
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