Words in Art

Originally from Minnesota, artist Faith Farrell is a scenic painter for movies. She spends her free time at Backstreet Arts and she designs sets and occasionally acts at Newnan Theatre Company. One of her latest writing projects involves penning a play titled “The Lonely Carnie” that features giant puppets. Her prose and poetry often finds its way into her paintings. Visit Farrell and her work on Instagram: @faithfarrellart.

Red with Ripe and Green with Rind

By Faith Farrell

Tossing the snack/sized pretzel salt over my shoulder for luck –
I look out the window of the plane.
Through triple-paned glass, the heat of the sun tattoos a triangley shaped sunburn on my arm –
And as I count the dotty dots of silos
and play tiddlywinks with the lakes
I realize that this is how summer’s beginning of the end always seems to start –
On a plane from Georgia.

I thank summer for days that I believed wouldn’t count:
for cold melon on hot mornings I thought wouldn’t matter.

Junior high hijinks of watermelon seed predictions –
each seed (solemnly sworn to secrecy) stuck to my forehead with their fruit juice glue.
Each seed silently named a lucky, future mate –
and as the day went by – seeds started jumping to their salvation –
until there was only one.

And like all 7th grade magic –
this named seed would reveal to me a future of lazy, eggy mornings,
Crosswords and cribbage –
Somewhere a champion of Valentines never received.

This roulette game of seeds transformed to more middle school magic;
folding paper cubes with answers written on triangle flaps,
magic 8 balls and fortune cookies;
Hunkered together in the trenches –
Ammunition for my future.

The plane starts its descent
and the green patchwork of wheat and soy
start to dinge out with the dirt
and the closer I get
the more I can see.

I brush away the pretzel dust
and push up my tray –
I knock three times on his thigh
Knock, knock, knock
I wake him
Mid-dream and post-drool, he clumsily takes off the headphones.

The air waffles on the tarmac 
and once again I am home –
Back to the place from where I began.

I know tonight as the sun begins its descent
we will all sit outside under the pines.
I also know the “OHS” of my accent will return as we eat fish and corn
and tomatoes from the garden
While we throw in some cheese (because that is what we do).

And as the dishes clink, clink, clink in their clearing –
I will be surprisingly speechless
when the guest dessert is served
Placed half-mooned in front of me;
Red with ripe and green with rind.

And as I wipe the fleshy pink juice from my chin,
I look past the pines
Seeing the seeds’ predictions
have finally come true.