The Gallery (poem)

Posted On: 04/27/2012 Current Mood: thinking

I try not to peer down
The long, grey hall
Or put on its queen’s
Broken crown.
I could lose all sense of time there,
For on its dingy wall
Are numberless scenes
From my past. Fallen down
On the floor
Through its heart-shaped door
Are scraps of treasures of old.
They may be trash to some,
Songs deaf or words dumb,
But for me
They summon memory
From regions untold.
The portraits on the wall
Of the long, grey hall—
I call them my memory-men.
Brothers, warriors, artists
Who shaped my life,
Or careless sadists
Who brought me strife—
They clamor in a silent din.
I must find myself broken
And vulnerable there
Though elsewhere I’d pretend myself
A princess fair.

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