A Couple of Maroons: Bubble in the Paint

Photo by Craig McCollum
Text by Maik Strosahl

A few weeks ago, Craig posted this photo showing an alert on his phone. I was more intrigued by the image in the background. It looked like something got into some wet paint. Never shy to ask questions, I shot off a message inquiring to see the full pic and find out any details he might have on the subject.
    “Reflection of my Subi in a mud puddle,” came the reply.

    To me, this became a wow photo. Who looks at mud puddles like that and captures something most of us never see, never pay attention to? A true artist does. That’s who.
    Haven’t been able to leave that image alone in my mind since I saw it. So, when my head finally cleared after two days of the worst toothache I have ever experienced (I am fine, by the way, although #31 is no longer playing for the home team—traded away for a hole in the head that is healing quite nicely), I finally figured out how to approach the photo.
    But first to the App Store, to download Sherwin Williams’ match-your-photo-to-paint feature. Hmmm. What one could do with colors like “Invigorate,” “Tanbark,” “Raucous Orange,” and “Labradorite.” Or maybe none of these.
    A little time in agony can drive any poet buggy, or it can lead him to question God’s very existence as we explore this world, making steps closer to our own Bubbles in the Paint. Or maybe it’s just time for another Tylenol.

There was no dramatic rescue,
no family coming together
with wings and shells,
arms and legs linked to save
the wayward lady,
legs flailing to walk away on air,
pulling her spots free
to fly again,
to suck another aphid dry.

She did manage
to flip herself over,
applying a matching coat
to her underside
so that she was
Sherwin William’d a
“Moonlit Orchid,”
struggling to crawl out
across the still wet
“Bluebird Feather.”

And maybe it is
a failing of mine
that I just watched
the whole beautiful agony
of her failed escape
without passion—
one coat drying her death,
the second sealing her
in a beetle shaped bubble
as a memorial to her
brief struggle.

Maybe there is a god,
watching as we twist and
pull our way
through these days.
Maybe there is one
who admires the beauty
of a good effort,
of a fight fought well
and a final breath taken

before the sod is pulled back,
the earth is disturbed
and we are
taken to our slumber
as it is all
sewn back closed
over our bubble.

Who really knows?

But tonight,
I am content
to sit cross-legged while
finishing my chicken wings,
acknowledging the lady’s presence
one more time
before rising to the agony
of starting another room
with a fresh gallon can
of “Turkish Coffee.”

Copyright © 2022 by Craig McCollum & Maik Strosahl
Originally a flat lander, Craig A. McCollum received his degree in photography and headed west. He lives in Montana with his wife and two sons, exploring the outdoors while hiking, biking, and chasing moose – the latter only with a camera, of course.
Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there.