by Sally Taylor
Steaming crowds kept us from her famous smile-
And glass barriers, and uniformed guards who stood Bored, yet cautious. But we saw her lidded eyes
Softly following us wherever we moved.
The people shuffled, milled, and clustered. We tried
To edge closer to see her madonna mood
In ancient paint, tried to see the fine
Strokes, the lost satisfaction of a love.
A flight down , burly tourists blocked the stairs.
A thick-necked teenage son yelled at the closed
Restroom door for his mother to “hurry up!”
We slipped past, excusing ourselves. They stared
And snarled. Down the hall, Winged Victory rose
With dirt-blackened feet vulgar hands had touched.
Sally Taylor is Coordinator of Composition at BYU. She has published her poetry in the Cumberland Review, in the DeKalab Literary Arts Journal, and in other literary journals. She has also published a book of poetry, A Little Light at the Edge of Day.
