After Making Love We Hear Footsteps poem illustration

The poem I chose to illustrate was 'After Making Love We Hear Footsteps' by Galway Kinnell. I listened to this poem on www.poets.org and I thought that this was a funny poem. It reminds of those times when I was little and I would come to my parents room just watching TV, and sit in the middle till I fell asleep. I like the little details that Kinnell put into this poem to show that the boy was little, with the description of his baseball PJ's. This to me is an innocent poem that any parent will get a laugh at and can connect to. The poem is not long and it does not rhyme, but it does give the image of what is going on. Something that I need more work in with my poems. This is a good example that will help me with future poems. 

In my illustration I wanted to draw the moment when the couple stops making love, and they look for the direction of the footsteps. In my mind I imagined that through the open door, you see the hall light on and on the floor you see a small shadow figure. This would be the moments where the boy is about to ask his parents a question. I drew this illustration in a different style than what I usually do. I went with illustration this by using flat colors, and a simple look on the people. I think I can see this poem and illustration be in those parent magazines as something fun to read. 

 

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps

by Galway Kinnell

For I can snore like a bullhorn 
or play loud music
or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman 
and Fergus will only sink deeper
into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash, 
but let there be that heavy breathing
or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house 
and he will wrench himself awake 
and make for it on the run—as now, we lie together, 
after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies, 
familiar touch of the long-married, 
and he appears—in his baseball pajamas, it happens, 
the neck opening so small he has to screw them on—
and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep, 
his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child.

In the half darkness we look at each other 
and smile
and touch arms across this little, startlingly muscled body—
this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making, 
sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake, 
this blessing love gives again into our arms.

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15927