cello
Many years ago,
Freeman Butts canvassed nudes
in his loft above Bozeman’s Main Street.
Forty years of practice heralded
this outlining of bold young
women in minutes
for gallery shows,
for commissions,
for sale.
Forty years
of legs, arms, heads and torsos
necks going this way, tilting just so.
He called Kate’s back a cello
while painting her yogic form
in bold cyan strokes.
Her brown hair curled
beneath a bowler
and a smile slowly spread
between her cheeks.
Freeman’s wife Daisy
brewed cranberry tea
and served cookies
halfway through
each sitting.
That day,
her eyes twinkled
as she revealed
Freeman’s expertise
with the cello,
giving surface
to the depth
of their love.
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