I saw a boy in the hallway yesterday
He reminded me of you
And not in his looks or his walk
But in what he was
And I swear to god, I've never felt my heart sink to my stomach so quickly
A flash back played like a movie reel in my head
I never realized where I was standing
So close to his face I could touch it with my bare hands
I stood in shock
I stood in awe
And those boys never look at me when I walk past them in the hallways
Ive resorted to eating in the library
At least, I'm thinking he won't gain my thoughts there
If I had a penny for my thoughts I'd be rich
They contain you
And your callused hands
The way the tip of your tongue hit your mouth when you spoke to your mother
How does one get over a broken heart
I am restraining myself
In order to keep sanity
But how the hell are we supposed to keep sanity when the art museum brings me to tears now
Its not a place of beauty and inspiration
But rather a place of broken down memories
A place of haiku's and lost hand holding
Peaking around the corners of the heavy gold frames
Maybe we were always a painting
Everyone had their own opinion on us
Few saw us as "art"
Maybe, the background didn't really bring out the light in your eyes
But mine were a full on fire
Art.
Maybe the brush strokes of your cheekbones were too sharp
Everyone thought the painting was too depressing
A girl, who's hands were melting down her wrists were interlaced with yours
Me at the other side
Can you imagine it?
Can you imagine what is was like to be so blinded by love you never noticed the deep tree rings of age you left over my core
I can't go back to that museum for awhile
The ceiling of the entry way reminds me of you
And how we used to talk about sneaking in and looking up at it like its something interesting
My darling
My past lover
Promise me you'll never take her to the art museum
That place was ours
And I can't stand you taking that away from me too....

We went to museums,
Curated our own desires,
Provided our own insights
To brush strokes
And pencil thin lines
While the world around
Tried to decide
What colors matched our style.

That laugh is a symphony to one's ears
Those eyes glow with intensity and wonderment
Those lips, soft to the touch, so sweet to the taste
Those hands reaching, caressing my face
But it's that smile i won't forget
That smile could melt a thousand hearts, win wars, take away tiredness and pain
That smile is locked away in a museum of my mind, forever hung up and frequently visited
That smile will never leave me

I hear the Bechstein


a blushed blur of universal vibrancy, constructed

……….of covered caution, a colored dream—a

……….dance.

a pressed curl of waxen connections, torn

……….over a rumbled boast, teetered to time—a

……….transition.

……….Folded space, a future chase.

……….The movers and risers pull the views out of

place before anyone can                          see.

……………………………momentarily

...


I was invited to read poems as a response to Ann Hamilton's exhibit at the Spencer Museum of Art. Read more about this event here:

http://shannonathompson.com/2013/04/19/reading-event-ann-hamilton-at-the-spencer-museum-of-art/

I see you sit expectantly biting lips
  on the extended museum steps leading
to a veranda around the building, that invites
a flash mob,of your ilk, effervescent, to come together
perform and celebrate, nothing in particular,
  except giving a shock pleasure to all those marked  "the other"

Once you made me believe, together we make a whole,
that is the story we live on I was told, I merely listened,
I and you missed few beats and steps here and there
find us now in pages different, why, even ages apart,

"What a fine specimen,!" a pacifist, I can't but appreciate
watching your elan. As if seeing an alien in my home ground,
I watch the spectacle, gulping down my discomfiture dutifully,
while you romance with much finesse,to the cell phone,
you cling on as if it's the beau you want to show off.

"Wouldn't she make a fine museum piece?"
that would point towards the life style,
that highlights only the moment present,
and constantly on the run to remain there,
while past vanishes and future becomes obscure more and more.

With a gentle smile for you to pick up, when you are at peace,
I move on; more than the museum pieces still living,
I am interested in  regular exhibits I easily grasp.