Truth is, I now understand why,

mom wanted me to color outside the lines,

of my Richie Rich coloring books

Truth is, her exhortations annoyed me,

I wanted perfection in the well defined boundaries,

and dreams of an affluent life

Truth is, her wisdom comes back to me,

repeatedly years after she’s been gone,

more so by something she said that was small, sometimes annoying to me,

like waxing on and off,

under the stern eye of Mr. Miyagi

Truth is, her words careen through time,

not diminished but strengthened by the years,

and while I must look at her photographs to remind me of her expression,

her words are always in my ear

Truth is, straying across the lines has lead me into uncharted territory,

wonderful and sometimes perilous,

and I muse while gazing on my path,

how perfectly boring my life would have been,

to have lived as Melville prophesied was the half lived life

Truth is, there is no greater courage than to continually live in the absence of the approval of others,

to live as the artist,

intent on the creativity rather than the artifact

Truth is, even great artists,

know the taste of their own mediocrity

Truth is, her words come to me when they are needed,

gentle reminders of paying attention,

grateful for the gift of I Am,

and words encouraging forgiveness,

when I succumb to doubt