Painter’s Hands
Pieta Brown
If I could do this for you I would
I would raise this country to your lips
& give you a painter’s hands
Oh you, the lines on my brow
You, the shadows under my eyes
Always we watched the world going blind
Our country such a mess
Our history a stray
This stray has its head in my lap
& I have nothing to give you
Just my eagerness to please you
& an open bitterness
For your hands without a paintbrush
I think I will always see your face
That look of fear that calms me
But I can’t seem to protect you
Even though I try
This stray that will never leave me
& I have nothing to give you
Just my eagerness to please you
& an open bitterness
For your hands without a paintbrush