The Artist
Drawing of my boys’ births
Draw me a picture that depicts my story
Start with the background of a summer city,
Warm for almost the entire year
Outline the old houses that look so pretty,
Use shading for the wide bitumen streets
Add colour for the cars that make the city look busy
White for the sand and blue for the ocean
Show the glorious views and a wind that’s breezy.
***
Picture me discovering I’m eight weeks pregnant
Use bold colour to show my excitement and joy,
Outline the months that passed too quickly
Blacken the hysterical birth of my tiny baby boy,
He arrived too early and I almost lost him
Overshadow the illness determined to destroy,
Contour the little fighter so determined to live
Brighten the colour of Ramon playing with his toys.
***
Continue to outline and colour the ongoing years
Enjoying the time it’s just Ramon and I alone,
Add in pinks and blues as I am once again pregnant
Sketch through all the months my tummy has grown,
Carefully shadow the pain and intensity of labour
Colour all blue as my baby has the male chromosome,
Cross hatch the entire picture with the love I am feeling
Blend all the colours as I take my new son, Jye, home.
***
Finish off the picture with lots of fun colours
As my life as a Mother is now complete,
I love how you have drawn my two gorgeous boys
Surrounded by my love in a picture so very unique,
The shading, blending and tonal depictions
Show your professional and artistic technique,
Now remove your pencil from the elaborate scene
The drawings of my boys’ birth fills the entire sheet.
*************************************************
If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.
****
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.



Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.