After Bella took a photo of my face stuck in the hole of the Whiteaker cote of arms, I had enough of the Whiteaker Block Party, and headed home. It was then that I spotted her on the wrap-around porch of an old Victorian. Look at her face! What a Gothic scene! I am reminded of Rena in her tower reading poems while she works late into the night. Here is the woman on the jetty during a horrific storm. There is a lighthouse in the distance, its beam straining hard against the sheets of rain, to reach him, the love of her life, lost at sea.
Suddenly, she is speaking to me, beckoning me to come up on her porch.
“I’m having a ‘Porch Sale’.” She informs me, and I detect the poet lurking in her.
I am very fond of folks who love to play with words. And no sooner have I climbed the stairs, and take a look around, I spot it……The Rose!
I am now asking this beauty if I could take her picture.
“No!”
A few minutes later I ask;
“Has anyone ever done your portrait?”
“No!”
It was then I saw the paintings stacked against the wall.
“Did you paint these?”
“Yes!”
“Is there any chance you have done a self-portrait?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see it?”
Watching this lovely woman walk to her front door, and put her hand on her crystal doorknob, is a painting. I wait for her to emerge. I see the crystal knob turn, fall off, and roll across the hundred year old planks of her ancient porch, and I am in love with this living work of art, this high drama that is being unveiled.
Here are the things this beauty once owned, that I now own. And if I had a thousand dollars in the bank, I would have written her a check.
“Can I take a picture of your portrait and put it on my blog?”
“Yes!”
I do not own this work of art. If you have a thousand dollars in the bank, it is yours.
To Be Continued
Jon Presco
Rosamond Press 
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