Before I post today's poem - I would just like everyone to know that in honor of the last part of my 22nd year of existence, I am going to try something new. The month of June will have a post for each of the 30 days.
(I think I'm saying that here so I'll follow through, but that's fine with me.)
and here's a poem by Marilyn Donnelly:
On Mondays
On Mondays when the museums are closed
and a handful of guards
look the other way
or read their newspapers
all of the figures
step out of golden frames
to stroll the quiet halls
or visit among old friends.
Picasso's twisted ladies
rearrange themselves
to trade secrets
with the languid odalisques of Matisse
while sturdy Rembrandt men
shake the dust
from their velvet tams
and talk shop.
Voluptuous Renoir women
take their rosy children by the hand
to the water fountains
where they gossip
while eating Cezanne's luscious red apples.
Even Van Gogh
in his tattered yellow straw hat
seems almost happy
on Mondays when the museums are closed.
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