In the Museum of Ethnology

[DonMar]

In the Museum of Ethnology

REV 2 (16.10)

In the Chinese room,
a brush and ink drawing
compels through the glass.

With its free-flowing mane
and feathery tail,
a horse in mid-gallop
is flying towards me,
joyful and wild,
straining to leap
from the paper.

Knowing how much
you love horses and art,
I think to myself,
The gift shop!
That horse on a card
belongs on your desk,
I'll post it tomorrow,
shouldn't take long to reach
your address. 

Then time and space shift,
I implode;
as molecules rearrange,
I hear the stone split,
feel a new vein of sorrow
crack open in the
granite rockface of grief.

What was I thinking?
An almost-moment, forgetting
you no longer live there.

Forgetting the river, the ashes.

With its free-flowing mane
and feathery tail,
a horse in mid-gallop
is flying towards me,
joyful and wild,
straining to leap
from the paper.
--------------------- 

A brush and ink drawing
is on display,
protected by glass
in the Chinese room.

With its free-flowing mane
and feathery tail,
a horse in mid-gallop
is looking towards me,
glorious, wild, and joyful,
straining to leap 
from the paper.

Knowing how much
you love horses and art,
I think to myself,
I'll go to the gift shop,
that horse on a card
needs to be on your desk,
I'll post it tomorrow,
might take just a week
to reach your address.

A split atom later
the space-time continuum trembles,
people and artefacts fade.

I implode,
feel molecules rearrange,
hear the splitting of stone,
and a new vein of sorrow
cracks open 
in the granite rockface of grief.

What was I thinking?

For an almost-moment forgetting
you no longer live there.

Forgetting you no longer live.

With its free-flowing mane
and feathery tail,
a horse in mid-gallop
is looking towards me,
glorious, wild, and joyful,
straining to leap 
from the paper.