My therapist took me to an art exhibit today.

A purple-grey wire ball, the size of my fist, 

hung from a web of veins and bones strung from wall 

 

to wall. 

“Are you beautiful underneath all that wire?” 

I asked. Each word sticking to the web 

 

and rattling the bones. I could hear

blood gurgling through the veins,  

and the purple wire tightened like a snake. 

 

A shaky voice over the museum intercom echoed  

I’m afraid to check, 

and I feel safer underneath. 

 

Now as I stand here, my dark blank eyes 

scanning the dark blank sky,

pop music drowning in the air,

 

I wonder to myself and to the stars: 

what force allowed clouds

on the night of this rare meteor shower?

 

Yet maybe the stars tonight

feel safer behind the clouds,

protected from selfish onlookers like me.

 

My therapist told me to bring sunflowers

to the exhibit, 

“A peace offering.”

 

The wirey hand of the shy structure

reached to gather the flowers,

delicately placing them one by one

 

in the gaps of her wiring.

The sunny yellow faces 

smiled thank you.