Wearing all black,
well, charcoal black technically—
I look like a New Yorker tonight!
I teased my hair,
then I combed it out.
It was too much!
Then I teased it again.
This went on for some time.
Who, me, nervous?
My father has brought his Polaroid camera.
He posed me standing next to my canvas,
shaking hands with Nastasia,
signing a few brochures,
answering questions for an interview
for The Gallerist’s next issue.
Proof that in the middle of a swamp
a lotus will bloom.
A takeaway from Kahlil Gibran.
Well, it’s proof of something!
Mostly the up-and-comers are young,
not as young as I am, but still I fit in.
Fit in. Those words taste good.
Turns out, among artists
I actually might.