Illusory at best, yes? . . .
This freedom of treading the remains of the day
caressing costumes
pocketing smiles
not unlike a silent film
where the audience can see what the actors cannot . . .
Gawking at the exhibit
within the resilience of a gift shop
an oasis ensconced in the rude . . .
later mapping the yellow brick road
perhaps indefinitely
noting the binge of history
as a way to memorialize your having been here . . .
convincing the watcher at the gate that your words
are suitcased and ready for a weekend getaway . . .
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| Leila Forés |