Learning to recognize the real thing.
A year ago
A false poet met me downtown
Spun me around projection
Screens, buying expensive tickets
For cheap imitations
Of works from
My favorite painter
He spun me around
So fast
I almost forgot they were fake
Recreations
A false poet spoke
Petrarchan platitudes
In my ear, musing that
My hair smelled of
“Some kind of flower”
Eyes trailing my body,
That “red was my color”
Yesterday, I arrived alone
And The Painter met me
At his door
Asked nothing of me
But a small bottle of tears
And a wind chime
The harness the peel
Of my laughter
The Painter declared that it
Never rained in Giverny,
So, he threw me in the pond
Shoulder-deep
Christened me in foreign waters
Softer than the American sea
The Painter was talented
In capturing his guests’ essence
He spoke in specifics, picked up
A loose lock at the water’s edge
And said, “Darling, it was lilies.
You smell like water lilies.”
The Painter grabbed my chin,
Looked in my eyes, and said
That I held every color of his
Palette
In one moment
I don’t know what it means
To have the false/with
And the real/without
A false poet met me downtown
Spun me around projection
Screens, buying expensive tickets
For cheap imitations
Of works from
My favorite painter
He spun me around
So fast
I almost forgot they were fake
Recreations
A false poet spoke
Petrarchan platitudes
In my ear, musing that
My hair smelled of
“Some kind of flower”
Eyes trailing my body,
That “red was my color”
Yesterday, I arrived alone
And The Painter met me
At his door
Asked nothing of me
But a small bottle of tears
And a wind chime
The harness the peel
Of my laughter
The Painter declared that it
Never rained in Giverny,
So, he threw me in the pond
Shoulder-deep
Christened me in foreign waters
Softer than the American sea
The Painter was talented
In capturing his guests’ essence
He spoke in specifics, picked up
A loose lock at the water’s edge
And said, “Darling, it was lilies.
You smell like water lilies.”
The Painter grabbed my chin,
Looked in my eyes, and said
That I held every color of his
Palette
In one moment
I don’t know what it means
To have the false/with
And the real/without
About the Author
Paige Mackenzie is a rising senior at Miami University majoring in creative writing. When she’s not writing she can be found seeking out beautiful sights and new experiences.