The chemist guided us
through her house
clamped to his clipboard
When Barry, artist of fragile
assemblage asked to revisit a
private moment with a painting-
the man's wrist watch
rattled in alarm.
The chemist tied my hands behind
my back with his eagle eyes
warning me not to touch or let
my camera capture history
disintegrating before me.
I rebelled by taking my leisure
coming down stairs caressing
the banister's curls.
And again I sassed him in
the kitchen, beyond permission,
slipping my barefoot out of its
shoe rubbing love into the
wanting skin of old boards.
Toward the end we sat in Emily's
sacred room as he gave us
ugly green copies of a souvenir
poem. He did not take notice of
Margaret's two hands cupped
supplicating to receive
the wafered words.
I wrote this right afterward, really mad. Looking back over the day, the poor man really did love Emily and wanted to share his wealth of knowledge and probably saw himself as the sole protector. My memories have grown quite fond of him at this distance. I only mourn the fact that you can't see what I saw.
I loved seeing her room most, imagining her wide, wide view of the world of words....written on such a small desk.
Glenworkshop East -Mt Holyoke College-June 2012-Amherst