by The Cowl Editor on December 9, 2021
Portfolio
Max Gilman ’25
When presented with an idea,
One is intrigued to oppose,
If they have knowledge
In a field so similar
To that of which is being argued,
Because
One yearns an ear,
To lean to with words
That accumulate
And become known as
The seeking of validation.
So,
When presented with a new idea,
Accept it,
At first,
And try
Understanding,
Instead of
Seeking
Such validation.
There she woke up,
Upon a bed of orange sand,
To become the observer of an endless sunset,
Confronted with an infinite horizon.
Around her lay remains,
Which a scholar could barely interpret.
The rumble grounded itself,
With the sand below its structure.
In the moment she sat there,
In the shifting sand,
She felt as if time had given her a break,
For at least the moment,
To witness such a miraculous sunset,
A beauty to withhold from no man.
She felt a breeze come from below her.
The breeze threw small rocks
Toward the sitting girl,
Implanting themselves along her hair.
She left the rocks, though,
A conscious decision,
And began standing up.
She knew not why she was here,
In this desert-like place,
Surrounded by the empty infrastructures,
Obtruding about the moving ground,
Or why the sun was departing from the sky so hesitantly,
But she admired it there.
As the heat had begun to withdraw
From the barren landing,
Another breeze lifted the girl’s hair,
And she thought of its comfort.
Curiosity intrigued the girl,
Yet she remained
By the spot where she had awaken,
To witness a splendid picture,
Emanating art
For art’s sake.
***
Precious sleep…
Perusing…
Shocking cold grasp.
Like the feeling of ice water exposed,
To warm skin.
Uncomfortably frigid sand,
Shifting with her moving arm.
Her mind,
Ablaze with thought,
A frightening light
Above,
A spotlight?
No.
The moon
Has arrived.
Like an entity of vast, colossal size,
The moon tore through the air,
Perching above the world below,
Looking down in a grim attitude,
Shedding little light
Around the barren sand
And protruding buildings.
One could say the moon took on a sinister tone
That night,
As it collected all of itself
Into one cohesive, spherical, godly planet,
Towering above all those residing
On the puny land
The moon so grimly overlooked.
Then night…
Begins to overtake the girl,
As she begins to confront her confusion.
Sand.
Desert,
I am in the desert,
I watched the sun set,
I must have fallen
Asleep.
Then
She reaches to her left arm
To now confront the stagnant grip there.
Who could
It be
Holding my arm
Who
Came here
Now?
The girl kicks the blind spot behind her,
Shifting the sand quickly.
As her body twists
To face the unknown peruser,
Her heart
Beats
Fast,
Beating
Faster,
Beating
Until
No one.
An empty painting
Of a desert at night,
In a museum.
The girl shrieks,
Holding her head tight
Between two hands,
Pushing
The wrinkles on her face
Too close
Together.
Hair
And sand
Don’t mix well,
But the girl has already begun
Pulling her hair out,
Spastically dispersing it around her,
Blankly
Staring at you,
The viewer,
Emotionless.
She keeps pulling,
It keeps coming out.
It comes out like string,
Loose string,
As her eyes stare deep and long
Into your eyes,
The viewers eyes,
Her eyes,
A midnight black,
Your eyes.
She knows you watch her with them,
She knows she is just a character,
Just a character,
For your amusement,
You,
The viewer.
She knows she is here,
In this piece,
Stagnant and without purpose,
But to tell the story,
Laid out before her.
She knows you watch her,
She knows she is just a character
In a poem,
In a desert,
In a painting,
In a museum,
In a cage,
In a cage.
But
She’s happy,
Right?
In a cage.
Did you not read the beginning of this piece?
She seemed happy,
In a cage.
I thought she seemed happy,
In a cage.
Join her,
By leaving your eyes in their rightful sockets,
Or dare to relinquish this poem’s entertainment,
Leaving it
Solely to tear your eyes out.