Whether we realise it when it happens, years later, or not in this life-time, everyone, at some point in their lives, is caught. Caught within the constraints of “acceptable” art, caught between obligations and decisions, caught by the reliance of comfort or love. This poem reminds us: Don’t settle, strive.
The stiffness of her dress caught on the corner.
‘Ouch,’ she said, ‘don’t push me.’
‘Well,’ said the picture frame, ‘you shouldn’t be trying to escape.’
The girl sighed.
She had been trapped inside
this museum for seventeen years now,
trapped inside the prison of his mind.
Visitors came and went,
ideas and fears,
longings and secrets,
but still,
she was never released.
Her dress was made of acrylic oil,
her hat certified silk.
Her pink satin stockings occasionally wrinkled,
but the picture frame always made sure
to pull them up.
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