Thursday, March 19, 2015
It's a good enough job, I guess.
I tell my friends it's dead boring,
walking around watching old ladies
who pretend to look at art
until it's time for lunch
in the museum cafe.
You don't know art
until you spend an 8-hour shift with it;
until you put in a 40-hour week
studying every brushstroke out of the corner of your eye.
In the afternoons,
sometimes standing close,
heads bent together,
Sometimes one drags the other by the hand to a painting,
and they laugh softly at an inside joke.
That girl stands with her nose
way too close to the Monet.
I walk by so she knows I see
but she is lost in the mystery
of light and shadow and color,
stepping forward, stepping back,
as I have done so often
when the gallery
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015