Poem

I was clearing out a huge pile of papers on my desk- you know the one, the "this has to be filed or looked at later or shredded or something" pile  I found this poem I wrote in response to the Magritte Painting that is sometimes called " Empire of Light" and sometimes "Dominion of Light" I suppose based on the translator.  I really like the poem and the way it makes me feel.  I wrote it thinking about the walks I used to take around the Silverlake Reservoir, back before osteoarthritis made walking something I have to consider seriously before attempting it.  It's a real bitch to have this kind of pain.  I used to LOVE walking, now it's just hard and painful.

On those walks I would pass houses in the early evening as people were settling in to their dinnertime routine.  Sometimes, I would imagine what life must be like in those large old houses, mostly inhabited I imagined by hipster families whose children have names like Drake and Portia.

Ok , that's mean.  But during my walk I would think and it would clear my head.  Sometimes I would come home and write.

This poem kicked around in my head after I saw an exhibit of Magritte's work and work that was influenced by him.  It STILL tickled me to think of the artist who gave the curator an empty frame, professing "everyone is doing one thing and I decided to do NOTHING as I felt that would be different"  That not different, that's an F in art.  Someone read  "The Emperor's New Clothes" once too often .  That the curator added it and the "Look what I bought at Aaron Brothers and am passing off as Art" artist, just flabbergasts me.  I wonder If  I should by frames and ask people to imagine what I could be doing if everyone else weren't already doing it?

Here's the poem.  I still like it.

Dominion

Night begins in the street

Daylight moves skyward
Then follows the sun
To its' western conclusion

Night begins in the house

The sound of children's laughter
Bare feet slapping on wooden floors
Gives way to the warm scent of dinner
Plates ringing
The evening is a soft comfort

The sound of a woman
Murmuring in her kitchen
The sound of a man
answering her with a low laugh

Night surrounds the house

Outside
The streetlamp
Pushes away
A small piece of the darkness
In a soft circle
Lighting the house
And the street below