Museum Artifacts

The latch resounds
one last click,
curator walks away.
Silence hangs,
a suffocating blanket,
weighing down the
dust of ages.
From somewhere,
from nowhere
comes a whisper,
echoing soundlessly
in cold marble rooms.
Incessant thrum,
spirit-drums felt,
not heard,
beckon eerie glowing figures
to dance among time-worn memories:
willow-the-wisp swirls
from Africa, from Asia,
Native American Totems,
dance in the tomb-like darkness.
Drums, and strings,
native chants
clash among the artifacts, until
a rattle-click of tumblers
announce the curator once more.
The door swings wide,
sunlight chases fleeing spirits
back into the clay;
faces once more somber,
eyes fade to black,
footsteps echo in the silence.
One last giggle,
footsteps pause,
silence hovers heavy --
a sneeze.
“Damned dust!”

Dallas D'Angelo-Gary 99