By Derrick Austin
Disembark the Turners seem to say,
those starburst barges glowing in the dusk,
but I can’t read old Rembrandt,
his guarded eyes are jewels, like black men.
Even the loaned, marble busts
of kings and soldiers fail to arrest you.
It’s nearly closing time. The elderly linger,
rapt. Who has looked at either of you lately
with such tenderness?
Entering the narrow hall,
I ignore my favorite portraits, their ruffles
and bodices, carnations and powder puffs,
afraid to share my joy with you,
yet your bearing in this space—the procession
of your shoulders, the crowns of your heads—
makes them sing anew.
You are both good men.
Walk into the Fragonard Room. You both seem bored still.
It’s fine. Perhaps we can progress like these panels,
slowly and without words, here—the city
where I first knew men in the dark—
in this gold and feminine room.
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Paul and I picked up Adam from his all night movie marathon, checked on Maddy who still has a headache but is no longer nauseous from her concussion, and went to get Daniel from the airport. After hanging out at home for a bit, we all went with Maddy to have dinner at my parents' (and watch the Ravens win!), then came home and watched Kingsman: The Golden Circle which the kids had not seen. Now we're watching Chopped's holiday competition. Just a couple of pics:
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