If I was not fascinated with this flow
of human-kind shuffling their startling
display of foot-wear which keep the plump,
the spindly, the squat and rakish tall on the move.
All these bodies with an astounding array of head-size
makes me wonder how neural pathways
branch out and filter all this information
inside each individual skull safe-guarding
a mass of soft tissue as eyes fix more often
to a bright screen than a painting
glowing. If I could gaze at these lilies
for sixty seconds without this juggernaut
of a side-show or better still if I was in Giverny
in summer looking over to that Japanese foot-bridge
or perhaps if I was there in 1916 en plein air
watching the portly white-suited artist daubing,
daubing his brush, his palette of colour,
daubing light onto canvas. If I could look
and lose myself in shades of green, strokes of pink,
white, yellow and never glance at the gold-edged frame.
If I could shut my mind to soldiers dying in trenches,
migrants drowning in oceans and people
blasted to bits in public places
but not now not in this museum in this city
Yes, then these lilies would divert me to an inner space.
Monica is a writer with a focus on creative therapeutic writing. She has been published in half-a-dozen anthologies in the series Writing for Therapy and Personal Development (Jessica Kingsley Publishers).
Monica runs Cabin on the Hill – a retreat for women writers in Sussex and offers workshops and sessions on the healing power of writing.