Thirty-three pieces of art
in the Community Room of
the Locust Valley Library:
Mother-child portraits;
a child with two koalas;
an abstract evoking
“What do you see in
this ink blot?” Someone
who’s mastered the darkness
of a Rembrandt.
This poem
is not a list. This poem is
not a poem that makes you
“Wish I could just see
the painting.” This poem
is a description that sets up
a question: With all this talent—
library exhibits, galleries;
café song nights, choirs;
poetry readings; craft shows
full of invention—why is it
always war when there is
so much creativity?