I have paintbrushes
to open doors,
to clean frozen ducts
and level wobbling chairs.
Paintbrushes tied to lanterns,
to forks, to fingers, to other paintbrushes.
I have paintbrushes that lost their heads,
I tried to fix them with duck tape.
Paintbrushes with camel hair, dolphin hair
rattlesnake hair, bluebird hair.
Paintbrushes with the hair stuck together
like fists, white haired, with afros, flamingheads,
wounded, in a wheelchair,
veterans from the war of a thousand days.
Paintbrushes with vertebras of doves.
I have immortal paintbrushes
looking like ghosts, although they can be also
the reincarnation of pens.
I have paintbrushes that wear ties, go to their desks
do only what they are told to do
and bend over ledger books.
Paintbrushes that are never home,
leaving menacing messages on an answering machine.
Paintbrushes that give birth every two weeks,
to baby paintbrushes crying to be fed.
I have paintbrushes that think
that life is the color of water.
I have paint brushes longing for the day when
they will meet the palette of their dreams,
where there will be enough colors to paint
all the things they have seen.
© Javier Felix ALL RIGHTS RESERVED