Friday, February 17, 2012

Music at the Surrealists and so goodbye

I went to the museum with Music
He liked some of the surrealist women but not everything was to his taste
He seemed agitated and snapped at me
Did not touch my shoulder or my wrist

I couldn’t look at the Fridas directly without tears
--As they sat hand in hand before me
--Arteries exposed
And cried again when a lady told us that Dorothea had just died
Moments after I was reading her letter
to Dear Cornell in a glass case

Keys and breasts and roses, cages, birds and blood
This is my language this is what I know
Bodies that grow
And shrink
In relation to their men
An Orphic flutist with a face of pearl’s cold mother
I don’t know music though I love
can’t sing on key

When we said goodbye in the sunny street he turned to me and kissed my cheek
Avoiding lips
Then I saw his visage made into a mask
Cold and white and shimmering with rainbows I could never touch


  1. it was like you heard the music, but he didn't see all the beauty in the art, or in you. he was only looking at slices or parts, instead of the whole picture. so who was the one to choose the good-bye? i love this by the way.

  2. I love this. Surrealist art has always been close to my heart. I love the connection to the art, but the disconnect between the people.