Poem of the Day
Bob Ross Paints Your Portrait
By Terrance Hayes
Today we’re going to get to work on the details
Today we’re going to get to work on the details
In evening light's splayed radiance,
in a field of scrub and vines hedging a river,
a boy found a black snake sunning itself.
My mother wanted to believe she would never lose me,
the way she wanted to believe in Christ
but now maybe all she believes is Thomas,
When I see a man
in a dress shirt, I want
to walk up behind him,
I am we: space the gift,
a white sprit of motion—
You can take my hand
anywhere. Tonight,
let it be the story of smoke
Why not---!
The black energy of that time.
We shared
The world is not aweather
for that moment. My brother
is painting a Sunday picture
Is belief, like love, first a touch, a feeling,
an inclination toward rightness?
But I have known—known—myself right so
I suppose I ought to consider the question rhetorical,
or know it simply means, I'd like to know what you've seen.
As a matter of fact, I've been the spider crawling beneath
your sheets, the worm searching your warmth as you sleep,
How do you find yourself in literature?
All blue-eyed, drinking from green bottles.
Do you think I’ve done the sky right?