Museum Hands

I keep getting thrown out of museums.

Blame my mother, a sweet dabbler who told

me to get my hands dirty whether in

the garden with a trowel, kneading bread

in the kitchen or in the studio

by the wheel, throwing clay and mixing glaze.

Mostly I get thrown out for touching things.

Every guard has been affable, charming

and insistent. I do appreciate

places where the good stuff is kept under

glass, although I weep for all that lonesome

beauty we must leave to share. Yes, I know.

This is how we learn to know things, by touch.

Reading is only a secondary

skill. I can tell you that European

porcelain heft’s totally different

from the Chinese – the types of clay, I think.

Texture of hand-mixed and layered paint is

grittier than acrylic. I can tell

you that gold leaf has a slightly oily

feel. Sometimes I have to lick my fingers.

This is how I know the dust on Dali’s

Last Supper has a different taste than

Rothko’s Chapel paintings. If I could I

would make a coat out of any Watteau

and wear that glory snug against my skin.

Give my love and my apologies for

being overcome to the National

the Hirshorn the Met

to Byodo-In

Canterbury Cathedral the Bishop

to La Maison Caree the Gibbes,

Plaza de Toros and the V&A

……as the list grows.

K. L. Johnston's poetry has appeared in journals ranging from Small Pond magazine in the 1980s to more recent work appearing in Humana Obscura and Pangyrus. She is a contributing poet to the 2022 anthologies "Botany of Gaia" and the upcoming "South Carolina Bards 2022."