Diptych
By Kevin Young
night watch
You can fall in love
in a museum, but only
with the art
or its silence—or the stranger
you don’t mean to follow
suffering past the Old Masters
& the unnamed
servants. Rembrandt’s face
half in shadow—
you can fall for what
isn’t there already, or
with the 13th century—the swan
raising up, roosters hung
upside down to die on a cross—
Even the tourists gathered
round the docent, the same
jokes & half-truths,
loom beautiful—
the children crying hurried
out of sight. Forget
The Night Watch, the crowds,
instead follow the quiet
to the portraits of light
entering a room. These walls,
few windows, hold
the world—what the world
couldn’t say till someone
saw it first—and now
it’s everywhere. The braids
of that woman’s hair.
self-portrait with felt hat
One should never be in love
when in a museum—
better to be alone, if not
utterly, then practically—
tired of feet, & routine,
forge ahead beyond
the bounds of audio-tours
& family, isolate, avoid
this couple oblivious
to it all, the captions & arrows,
kissing like no tomorrow
beside Van Gogh’s sunflowers—
bruised, chartreuse, brilliant
& wilting for years, yet never
managing to. Skip
holding hands & Gauguin’s
portrait of Van Gogh
painting what he saw. The crows
gather like clouds, black—
or the crowds—that the couple
doesn’t care about—
numb to all else. Best
believe in the world
more than yourself.
