*****************************
I remember:
The arrows on the sign out front pointed to each other,
I wondered where that meant you were.
I wondered how to find the Studio.
Your art swept me in, became a fluid new home for my vision.
“Dive in,” the pictures said. “Float or go deep, it doesn’t matter,
there’s life / meaning / beauty at every depth.”
Outside, the pomegranates ripened on the tree
while I in rich-rewarded wonder roamed
through your high garden of art.
I remember: Paradise has an address.
To find it, go behind / beyond the arrows,
defy the visible daily instructions.
Take Kandinsky’s words with you:
“There is no must in art, for art is free.”
*
Friday
Shabbat comes soon. I must look for you while I can,
before the rest begins.
There you are
in the classical face rising from the lake,
eyes meeting sky
There you are
in the matriarch robed in red, holding a luminous
orb. I named her “Queen of Between the Worlds.”
You smiled and said, “I’ll write that down.”
There you are
in the matador whose face forever hides from
our view, his traje de luces flashing green and gold
There you are
in the young horse running over pale blue sand
and into silver waves
There you are
in the almost-Hindu goddess smiling, turning
to greet those who approach. She gestures to an
empty vessel–urn or vase?
There you are
in the photo of the two of us together,
shoulder to shoulder at Passover.
When my life ends, when my soul passes over,
will I have the opportunity to say,
There you are,
my friend?
Image 1: Untitled by Mil Lubroth
Image 2: Mientras andaba by Mil Lubroth
Text, copyright Ysabel de la Rosa, all rights reserved.
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