2022-05-04T14:24:37-07:00January 12th, 2011|Musings on life, Parenthood|

The curator

When I was seven,
I wanted to be a museum curator,
mostly eraser collections
and smelly stickers,
a few stand-out drawings of my own,

Now, as I slip into the skin
of a mother,
I’m aware of my desire
to curate
his life.

I want to identify gaps in his collection
of passions
and fill them with experiences
or eliminate those that don’t fit
my mission for him.

For isn’t it my role
to shape a kind man
out of him?

I’ve since learned that “curator”
comes from the Latin word
to care
but it doesn’t matter.

I have to fire myself from this post
before I’ve even begun.

I have to buy a ticket
like everyone else
and wander through
the odd assortment of cherished values
he will choose
to display.

And when I get to an abstract piece,
I pray I have the grace
to remember that even when art
is not understood,
it can still be

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