Confessions of an Intern SARAH PAYNE
In the museum I ache to give everything a full-handed squeeze— to pilfer it in my pocketses, to destroy it from the inside. Interactive or reactive? Modern art Lincoln log dollhouses crumble in my hands. I need to kiss the faces in the canvases, put my clothes in the dressers of dead people, & then drink that unopened champagne from the ’53 Indy 500. Better with age? Unanswered. Untouched, Venus-to-Virgin Rapunzel. Despite who it says I am on my nametag, I am an erupting Vesuvius in curator’s clothes.
POETRY
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