IN THIS GALLERY

by: Pamela Hobart Carter

The pieces whisper and hum.

On walking through the space, the human perceives nothing unusual.

One must linger. Must stare.
Must picture how the artist perched at the rim of the canyon to catch this angle.

The soft susurrations are of wind through cottonwoods, airy music without language.

The critic hesitates to mention this attribute of inert works hanging in metal frames
on copper wires from brass hooks nailed into plaster walls
of her town’s recently renovated museum.

She refuses to chalk up the melodies to peculiarities of the building’s ventilation
or to any possibility of mental instability.

Again and again she returns to verify.

Whispers and hums, whispers and hums accompany her perusal.

In her diary, she records her observation.

In her article for “The Times,” she gives a less-than-kind assessment of the bold reds
and purples, “blaring from overlarge panels.”

Something of her lie protects her.
To her journal she confesses it was for job security she underrated the show.

Who now will stand long enough to hear the updraft as before sunrise when early light
allows one to peer over the precipice and discern ancient stripes of sediment?

About the Author

After she earned two degrees in geology, Pamela Hobart Carter became a teacher. Her plays have been produced in Seattle (her home), Montreal (her childhood home), and Fort Worth. She is the author of 4 poetry chapbooks with long titles. Carter is also a visual artist.