Art Lesson with Aunt Emma

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Art Lesson with Aunt Emma
By Carmel L. Morse

On her patio in Salt Lake,
we squeezed pimples of cadmium
red, yellow ocher and cobalt blue
from tubes vivid as cartoon toothpaste.
Emma tossed me a sable hair brush, said,

Your creativity is a gift. Use it!

Emma's house dress, smothered
in passion fruit flowers and hula
dancers, caressed her chubby knees.
Wearing red silk slippers she scuttled
like a Japanese Beetle between her easel
and scotch-on-the-rocks, the young flapper
still visible in her cropped henna hair,
baby-doll pink cheeks, crimson lips.

The Beatles sang "When I'm 64"
on the transistor radio. Emma cried:

Jeez, I love that song!
danced around patio chairs,
one hand on her waist, other hand
waving a brush, splattering paint
like ruptured maraschinos
on the concrete.