The looking tree. (C. Finch)
by Haley Winkle
UMMA’s day begins with eight six-year-olds
drawing gestures of flowers with Matisse
meticulously chosen crayon colors
no pattern to their seating: they take
an alcove, it’s theirs. I sneak past
I know better than to distract their art
more classmates near the contemporary section
on the floor in groups of five, learning how to look
at art. I sit near ancient ceramic bowls
avoid interrupting their lesson. docent poses
questions. students muse, compare
prints to pizza and sea creatures
“it looks like a shark”
“sharks don’t really have claws”
“it looks like a jellyfish with arms”
docent tells the young students
who just spelled the word zoo
that every opinion they have
about a piece of art is right:
the way they look at art
makes it mean something
to them. I wonder if I ever
received the same lesson
my empty alcove faces
a brick building claimed by ivy
there used to be chairs whose scuff
marks have stained its floor
scratches from sharp shifts.
it’s been a while since I’ve last visited–
funny how even the chairs change
the spot where I used to sit
just different enough to leave me
uncomfortable
outside the gift shop
young aesthetes reach
coat rack too tall
for their short parkas
***
Haley Winkle is an Ann Arbor-based editor, baker, poet, and artist with work in Funny Looking Dog Quarterly, Vagabond City Lit, and Honey & Lime. The University of Michigan Museum of Art (UMMA) has been one of her third places for nearly a decade–its little changes never go unnoticed.
***
This is an original poem, brought to you by Poet Tree Town, an Ann Arbor-based poetry-in-public initiative and celebration of local poets. Find out more about Poet Tree Town on Instagram and Facebook, or say hello at [email protected].
