Poetry- Gallery Walk by Sarah Frank

I am Monet’s waterlilies

and you are Seurat's Sunday Afternoon,

posed side by side in a gallery

of people who only mildly care,

people whose glances pass over me

and then you

and then the next one,

already forgetting what they saw.

We are not competing

for the critique’s critique

or the praise of passerby,

we are not competing to be the background

of family photos

or the subject of curiosity.

We are separate

simultaneously

sitting and letting judgements pass.

You seem to think

there is some prize to be won,

so you steal the best lighting

the best frame

the best spot in the gallery.

You murder Mona Lisa,

send a hurricane to Starry Night,

take the pearl from The Girl with a Pearl Earring,

steal the sun from Impression Sunrise,

the food from The Last Supper,

the globe from The Astronomer.

You cut the ropes of The Swing,

awaken The Sleeping Gypsy,

all so your Sunday Afternoon can shine brighter.

You demolish The Tower of Babel

and try to drown my water lilies.

Amongst the silent destruction

of this art gallery,

you are triumphant,

victorious,

queen of the rubble you created,

but you forget

that water lilies

always

stay afloat.