“The Boulder Move” by Tami Boehle-Satterfield

Moving boxes

I am moving backwards through my life,
Soon to be spatialised, catalogued, and titled.
I picture it –
Already gone.

Fingering its contents.
I am moving through
A favored museum.
A Medieval Priestess
Caring for souls.

Selecting, to preserve this one.
Safeguarding a misunderstood notion
Of my undervalued heritage.
It is a great production

This exhibit:
“Remember the time;”
That exhibit:
“When I was.”

Wrapping it up,
It disappears
Into smoothed papered assurances,
Like butchered meats.

I am satisfied, proud even.
The purchase it gives me,
Something to hold on to.
An illusion of my reality.

Filling boxes.
My back burdened of the stuff
That has made me.
I am a tired curator.

The artist’s rival, banking on futures, coming attractions.
Imagining new marble statues,
Declarations on pedestals
Of my next show.

October 13, 2014

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