It Should Be Startling
It should be startling, this thing on the wall
with its garish colors, and daily items,
an upside-down chair, a broken Fender guitar.
It should be startling but it feels somehow comfortable,
like a french cafe gone just a little awry,
like you could sit down and watch the street
and the parade of strangers who might look at you
or might not, so accustomed to madness
that your own does not even register.
And so you stand in front of the painting,
at rest, not trying to understand,
but simply letting yourself feel,
happy for the moment
when your madness seems sane.
About this poem.
I have a saying: “Everyone is a little broken.” The older I get, the more I believe it.
The picture was taken at Mass MoCA.