I stand in the corner of the room.
Invisible, you know, but not hidden.
I want people to know I'm there
but they don't come here to see me.
I stand where I can see the painting
(which I kinda get but kinda don't)
I really want to see the faces.
The woman who silently starts crying,
the man who rushes in to get as close as he can,
some stay for hours and just stare
others come in, say wow, and move on quickly
The painting is sweet and I kinda get it.
The faces though, that's the stuff.
I could watch that all day.
(And, I do. )
©2013 Liza Lee Miller
Writer's Digest November Poem-A-Day Challenge