SKETCHES She always carried a sketching pad Whenever she visited places, Drawings were the memories she had Of many interesting faces. The old fisherman in Italy, Making repairs to his ancient net. In his craggy face, such history, Lines of happiness and of regret. The basket weaver in New Orleans, A stately black woman with a shawl. The bald headed fruit peddler in Queens, The little girl with her Raggedy Anne doll. At her wedding, mother of the bride - She wondered how she found time to draw. Her brother in the Marines. Such pride In wearing his uniform, she saw. She sits before a mirror today, With an old sketching pad in her hand, Drawing a lined face with hair of gray, Beside that of her deceased husband. They always meant to get a portrait Of both of them in casual pose, But, even now, it wasn’t too late. She added shadow beneath her nose. © RickMack (jotoma@bellsouth.net) WRITERS' CORNER: INDEX