Quick, dart for cover
The bully moves on.
The door of the museum opens on
the exhibit of the long gone artist.
The couple walk in and look at his work.
Momentarily, he and she observe.
He raises an eyebrow and her eyes roll.
They move to the next, not understanding
the intimacies they bear witness to
in the blacks and grays and blues and purples.
They do not see love and hate, life and death or
the secrets of a man’s life put on display,
illustrated in the mingled pigments.
But one day the front door opens again.
A woman stands before the artist’s work.
Her pulse quickens, her spirit awakens.
She perceives the passion the painting holds.
She feels the love and hate, the life and death.
For her, the colors tell the lost story
of the artist, who created to share
history, written in textures and hues
of paint tinted with his dripped sweat and blood.
As he labored, he hoped some would see
with eyes of the soul and not the socket.
The woman knows that long ago, he stood
in his studio and painted for her
the picture hanging in the museum,
and finally, she has come to see it.