Poetry / Starry Night
Forgotten art hangs in the dusty hallway
Debris crunching under our feet
We obtain the key from where it rests
Underneath an approximation of a woman’s beauty
Painters’ meanings are irrelevant, she tells me
Their works are only viable to their bitter subjects
We close the door behind us
Hoping to retain a pin’s silence
It tastes like dirt in here, I say
But she ignores my complaint and wanders forwards
Her feet are stones in a tin can
I cannot help but feel that the art grants us access
Although I am no expert, I believe it can revoke it just as easily
Uneasy, I take periodic glances towards the door behind
It’s amazing what paranoia will make you hear
I look for her; she is crossing the line
The interruption between our world and theirs
She tells me I am not motivating enough, and yet I try to persuade her back
It is important, I tell her
She looks at me
I thought you were important once, too
As she vanishes, she leaves little instruction on how to follow
It is, after all, what she sought
Trading her life for the life of a painted woman immortalized in art
When the last trace of her has vanished, a soft wind scatters the minutiae near my feet
They seem to be trivial objects
A comb, a scrap of newspaper, a cigarette
But they are enough to remind me of what I cannot leave
No matter her transformation, I cannot make the same one
I cannot be with her anymore
And so I turn my back
Open the door
Replace the key
And complete the cycle we began
Resigning myself to a life of the mundane
As she dances among the painted stars forever
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18 and life to go…that’s an 80’s song you’re probably too young to know. I’m amazed at your talent.
They tell me in the review rules here that I have to mention things that need “improvement” in a work. The only question I have is, Is the “I” in the poem art as well, or is “she” alone the art.
Now, let me tell you how amazing this is. The story of it is so vivid to me. “Her feet are stones in a tin can”—that image alone is worth the whole read, but this is stocked full of so much beauty.
“No matter her transformation,
I cannot make the same one
I cannot be with her anymore” That is grief and abandonment so perfectly written in three lines.
And of course the ending…It shook me, and I can’t wait for a starry night to look for her dancing.
You are gifted, and I adore this work!
McKinley
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