A Mother's Plea to the Sketch Artist

by P. J. Taylor


Can you draw my daughter down from this tree?
I’ve tried to reach her forming chains of letters,

found most were too heavy to lift. I’m afraid she’ll fall
when I’m not looking. I grow dizzy when I think of it—

how few photos I took. Too often, I quickly snapped
while she stood posed, instead of capturing her unaware.

Nudge her with your softened lead from that branch,
then catch her on your clean, white sheet. Will it help

if you place your hands over my eyes? Commit her
features to memory, so you might portray her on paper.

Or if you kiss me, could our tongues form a bridge
she couldn’t resist climbing down to cross? If not

your talent, then lend me an eraser, so I might rub out
my doubt until it’s nothing but a nub. Won’t you sketch

me a ladder, so I might ascend this wretched trunk?
Better, sketch her already descending into my arms.