Irascible
by Nina Bhatt
Anything can hit you
walking down the street,
who can predict
how you will bruise?
A black eye
so one’s very own,
to keep,
weep over, cherish,
present with flourish:
‘do not touch’ or
‘work in progress’ or
‘kiss n make better’
To offer-up,
to plate pigment,
to write on epidermis
like ‘paint with water’ art
for ages two and up
where all you need
steady hand,
glass of clear liquid
Eye-shadow and blush
a rush of color
green disrobing for red,
purple putting on
the saffron of ripe fruit,
a bruise is a watercolor
hurt-hued
An instant water-mark
that says: ‘this I am’
a wee revolution of blood vessels,
civil unrest
at artistic best,
stamp of disapproval
that wells up from within,
a pop-up coup if you will
Could it also be
how it all began, imagine
early woman comes up against
cave wall or
early glass ceiling,
pays back in kind
insult for insult
tattoo for tattoo
It is the first concussion then
A bruise could be
the first painting,
why hide it?