by The Cowl Editor on September 28, 2017
by Jay Willett, ’20
A sunset in a picture doesn’t capture its beauty.
The golden rim, rust-painted wood,
Sleeping alone, cold nights,
What will last longer?
Looked upon as pretty, nobody truly means that.
If it were beautiful, it would be out to see,
Instead it’s put away and marked.
When it arrives only wood shows,
Not that it matters.
It’s part of the art gallery;
A collection of sculptures, fragments of memory.
The child sees these engraved, beautifully designed rocks.
Not as beautiful as what was beneath,
Lined up neatly, she giggles and tugs her mother’s hand.
But they don’t move
None of them do
None of them will.
Perhaps it’s confusion towards art that keeps us alive,
Mysterious allure of symmetry, order, and pattern,
The woman doesn’t move, illustrated with water.
Normally it’s frowned upon to touch such art,
But she grasps the flag, nobody in the gallery halts her
They spend the most time on this work,
All the other stones lay still, watching.
The world is quiet for them
The silence between the tears
The sun sets.