When Naomi made a picture

Naomi made a picture. She found a flame
cupped in someone’s hands.
It looked like an orchid
growing in warm wetness,
glowing
through the dark.

She chose a black man, and words
suggesting violence.

When she saw what she’d made, she cried.

I touched her shoulder, told her
it was supposed to be fun.

‘My life is shit’, she said,
’I didn’t know how bad.’

But Naomi made her picture on bright
yellow paper and, though the right
top corner was dark,
by the time she got to the other side
sun was shining through Spring leaves
and dolphins – two of them –
leapt.