The Hanging
This is how it went:
you applied the hardware to the frames
hunching over drill, screwdriver, wire
and we hung my artwork on dark walls.
As we did I realized most of it was trash
and thought of starving children
whom supply costs might have fed
for one more day.
Shame paces me like a neurotic tiger.
I wished to burn it all, for you to understand
my heart is not this small.
Instead, we hung more paintings,
pranced around with placards.
Guilt ravishes me like maggots marauding
in poisonous pink paint.
C Julianza shavin
Ted