Sunday, August 23, 2009

Temporäre Kunsthalle

You walk into the room. It is the size of a football field with a roof of average height, but too low for what you expect from a room of these dimensions. There are no lights. What light there is in the room comes from two sets of opaque glass doors on either end of the rectangular hall and one in the center of one of the longer sides. The walls are painted white. The floor is checkered gray concrete. The ceiling is checkered unpainted plywood. Above you, on the other side of the plywood, a tap dancer dances.


When I was four, I woke up to
A sound I'd never heard before--
Midwest skies in thunder storm.

I crawled into my parent's bed.
But Dad, he pulled me to the porch,
Wrapped a blanket round us both.

We saw the lightening and the clasp,
Watched the rain and felt the wind.
In time, I was asleep again.

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