MOMA
Note: I wrote this poem one hot, sunny afternoon after a visit to MOMA. It's fabulous to post this as a blog because I can link to all of the paintings which will make its meaning more clear. :-)
The sun
kindles the sky
I dodge the New
York suits
the anthill scramble
of lunch timepay the speckled lady
in the white, wide lobby
to broach the mazes
of these boxed halls, the din of school kids
directionless,
spins then falls,
up the aligned
escalators we go, lovers and others,
like me, alone, stroll
at the top, Marina
Abramovic — B&W films roll
suspended,
within a few steps,
post-war tension jiggling breasts,
one feminine
face, aghast
upended
mid-scream,
extended —
I retreat to spaces
less impeding —
the calm and familiar
floors beneath:
Cezanne,
stippled, deep landscapes,
Matisse,
Still Life with Three Puppies,
Gauguin
But
why does Picasso's
Wives & Lovers
sadden me so?
I leave burdened
by their loss
of color, their heavy
lined faces
that have yet
to grieve
Until, she bids me
Stay —
the Girl Before
a Mirror with her bright gestured
wave
with so much to say
like Christina
from her World* reaching, reaching,
Come back for me..
I cannot leave
yet
with one still to see,
— Roulin**,
a tourist
videotapes him, proud,
bright, always
a showman
his beard blaring
from behind
the glass
What a precocious
fellow: always a flirt.
*Christina's World - Wyeth
**Portrait of Joseph Roulin - Van GoghNote: About MOMA
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