Sunday afternoon at the museum

 When first, I see your painting outside
a book, hanging on a wall,
I reach to brush the mystery
of layers I know are underneath
until a blue uniformed arm
intercepts my ten-year old
touch before alarm sounds.  

I turn to follow an enchanted
path my own desire carved
into crowds to see, really see,
every painting with my own
artist eyes searching for the answers. 

6 thoughts on “Sunday afternoon at the museum

  1. Maggie Brewer

    Yes! I talk to my students about my desire to touch Van Gogh’s paintings (as an adult!). That thick paint is so enticing.

    Reply
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