ONLY IN BLACK AND WHITE

the stray cat would rather sit on the window ledge
tail wrapped around itself; cold, surely.
At least the oil paints
do not dry out so quickly
silver lining
this December-going-on-February
marriage year two.

That both of us choose to remain
should not surprise anyone;
we are Lutheran souls
domiciled in a land
of sunshine,
of wine laden breezes,
of plastic cameras that focus
on things both shiny
and new.
Hollywood lives only hours away,
soft-glow in the imagination
if nowhere else.
.
When a visual artist is
the breadwinner
you have chosen the wrong career.
Painter turned forklift driver.
An hourly worker chasing overtime.

My reason wears layers like a scarf
color, fabric and deceit.
She is a plant in the corner
not in direct light.
She competes for the silence,
for not to be seen.
She is winning.
Years from now her exhibition features
black & white photographs:
the cat.
His sleeping arm across a pillow.
Seashell full of cigarette butts.
More cat.
None of the grim shadow
painted into a corner.

Travis Stephens is a tugboat captain who resides with his family in California. A University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire alumni, recent credits include: Gyroscope Review, 2River, Sheila-Na-Gig, GRIFFEL , Offcourse , Crosswinds Poetry Journal, Gravitas and The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.Visit him at: zolothstephenswriters.com