There I sat- perched on a stool

Anticipation rising

For what I could learn from an artist’s hand

While my face- she was drawing

 

At first my eyes had to be set- a far way off

So they accurately she could capture

My head remaining still then finally I could look

But these were the eyes of my father!

 

How could she draw my daddy’s eyes?

She had never even met the man!

Yet his likeness she saw peering deeply at me

How could this-my heart understand?

 

Then as she continued her skillful quest

At her easel with pencil arose

Another such image developed in sketch

From my forehead to my nose

 

This looked only slightly of my likeness I thought

Though I was proud that she paid a visit

This was the face of my sister- surreal

Her features for sure I could see it

 

Finally this portrait morphed into my face

With validity and rigor

It was uncomfortable for me to look at it straight

My reflection as in a mirror

 

Were each made up of many slight nuances

Sketched in our lives to discern

Perhaps the difference that sets us apart

Is what in life we can learn

 

Eloyce M Witzel