A Closed Room at the Museum

It is early in the day and the museum is mostly closed.
Lights are off. Rooms are unfinished.
Be it history or art, not everything needs to be seen.
Some things are best packed away. Safer in the dark.

Age has taught you this, and taught you more as well,
that things put away sneak in
at the most unexpected moments,
as unexpected as the grace and (or) wreckage

they bring with them as they come out of the dark,

Mostly, they are uninvited. But now and again
you choose to peek in the dark doors
in some strange need to see if the dark things
are still packed away, or

If, in your absence, they have wandered away,
waiting for you in dark corners.

About this poem.

Memories can go either way, and they have a tendency to show up uninvited. Fickle things, memories.

The photograph was taken at Mass. MoCA (Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art). I was indulging my habit of peering into closed galleries when I took it.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom