My Sister Karen

I come from a family of artists. My father was a talented amateur artist who earned a living drawing caricatures at county fairs when he and mom were first married. Every one of my siblings has one of more of the beautiful watercolors he painted hanging in our homes, me included. We also inherited the artistic gene passed down by our dad. My art is expressed in my writing. My late sister, Patty, left a legacy of gorgeous painted ceramics. My sister Karen is a talented painter and poet, who lives in Santa Cruz, California. Currently, she’s a featured artist at the Santa Cruz Cultural Council.

Karen also keeps a journal of sketches reflective of her moods and memorable events in her life. She calls them her “selfies.” As a proud sister I like to boast, so I’m dedicating this week’s post to my Lil’ Sis. The poem below accompanies the sketch above, which is a reflection on motherhood based on a memory of a real event in her life. I thought it was especially beautiful, so I’m sharing it here.

THE PUSH AND PULL OF MOTHERHOOD

I heard a child’s cry as I stepped outside,
Was it my grandson, here with his dad
Or a neighbor walking with her grandson?
And I hesitated, it must be a neighbor,
None of my concern, I was on my way
To my studio, on my schedule, 
Things to attend to, but, instead, I listened
And so found a young doe,
Not running from me, but skittish,
Dancing back and forth around her child
A fawn, caught in the metal bars of
Our neighbor’s fence, wide enough
For his head and chest, but not for his hips
Now trapped (children never think),
Plunging in headfirst, trusting that
A mother is always near to rescue them,
And this mother deer looked at me as if
I understood, mother to mother,
Pleading for my help,
What could I do for her child, 
What wouldn’t I do for mine?
As the fawn screamed, unfamiliar yet
So like a child’s, I rallied my own sons
Young men now, who grumbled at first,
At my intrusions, into their worlds 
(Never welcome these days),
But then they were at the ready, one to push,
One to pull, as my younger son, by my side,
Inside the gate, covered the fawn’s face with a towel,
Quieting him enough to push as my older son,
Pulled and carefully unwrapped his hip,
Threaded his legs back out, enough,
So that he hobbled away, then dashed
Away with his mother still close by.
Who gave me a glance, as if in thanks
Or, as if acknowledging the bond of motherhood,
While my own sons retreated back to their worlds,
They don’t need me now, forgetting
All of the pushes and pulls that brought them here.

To see more of Karen’s sketches and poems, click here. You can also vote on your favorite. Each month she sends me her latest batch of selfies and invites me and my writer friends to vote on our favorites. The winner is the sketch she develops into a painting. She would love to get your input. I’ll post a photo of the painting done from the winning sketch in a future post!