I am brown --
gold leaves curling into brown death
a sixty five million year old dinosaur
caught in a desert bronzed grave
brown teeth snarl-frozen.
I am white --
frosted maple leaves
yellow-drained winter sunlight
a dying mother's hair white-
whorled on her neck.
I am the clarity in the eye
of a sixty five million carat diamond
where the mother curls
around the salt-sculptured father.
I am black --
panther foot falls
coal glittering on buckled rock walls.
I am the black hole sucking in
and sixty five million shades in between
even the color of death
Over the years of exhibiting her work, a combination of her poetry in calligraphic form and collages of paste paper, Pattie Palmer-Baker discovered (to her delight and surprise!) that most people, despite what they may believe, do like poetry, and in fact many like poetry better than visual art. She now concentrates on poetry. She still creates artwork but not as often. She finds poetry is more engaging. She loves words.