“Portrait of the Artiste” by Carol Spielman Lezak

Coming from a long line of artists,
it was beyond disappointing
to have been born with no talent.
The lithe pen of her mother,
whose airy sketches delighted.
The intense expressionism of her father,
whose canvases once seen were never forgotten.
The eloquent hands of her grandmere,
who molded magic from balls of clay.
The brilliance of her sister’s fingers
awakening the cello’s clear notes.
She dabbled, but to no avail.
Had she only listened to
others’ sighs, their sounds, as she
wove stories, spun verse around their heads,
she’d have known that talent needs no
instruments, ink or clay.
An artiste in her mind.
An artist to everyone else.