i’ve been rolling the title of the exhibit
around in my mouth for months.
the words are a chipped marble,
smooth, round, hard and cold against the back of my teeth,
cutting the insides of my lips
eight months with these four words before today–
on this nothing day,
this sunny cold sad sunday that finally found me face to face with
ghostlike and painful,
chairs crumpled in defeat,
drawers with memories drowned in cement,
raw petaled shrouds cast off carefully, like old skin.
heavy with violence tightly wound into art,
heavily guarded by museum staff who warn
please, not so close.