Tadema drew me this picture.
Greek hunky toga man,
reading Plato to a small crowd.
A past life in lithograph,
handpainted monochrome,
vintage grandma colors.
Rumor is that this picture,
traveled via boat from Italy,
in search of me.
I'm the woman reclining in those roses,
thrilled amongst heady, academic airs,
enrapt, mesmerized, maybe stoned.
We've hung on my various walls for years.
Glaring at each other in peripheral constance.
My very own private jiminy cricket.
Cost me a hundred dollars I shouldn't have spent.
Foraged out of a musty antique store.
Hidden in the bottom of a lesser pile.
I fell in love with it at first sight.
I've never really owned it.
It has, however, always been mine.
