Enjoy the Looking
At the Getty Villa
in Malibu, a docent shows me myself
thirty
years
from now: how
I’ll be wearing a batik
blouse
and smart,
red-framed
specs;
wire
necklace;
salty
hair.
How
I’ll be the one saying:
“Don’t pay
attention
to what
they want you
to think.”
I wish
she could walk
me through all
exhibits,
be with
me in this
poem,
show me how to
see anything
as lovely as
a tree without
influence.
Above the
Pacific,
our docent
suggests,
“Enjoy the
looking.”
But
how without regrets?
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