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At the National Museum
by Rick Mullin
What if the clouds one short dark night
Hide the blue sky until morn appears
When the bright sun that cheers soon again will rise
To shine upon the earth for endless years
— Ralph Albert Blakelock
Another marginal American,
His varnish cracks in attics and museums,
In living rooms, New England atheneums —
Perhaps not in the Holy Vatican,
But in religious halls, unvisited
By any but a small illuminati
In Buffalo, Detroit, and Cincinnati
Who know where paintings are deposited.
Who come to know the end of afternoon
Through cadmium-ignited skies and see
The blackout trees inextricably curled
Into the veil before eternity.
Who angle for what’s needed of the moon
To mediate a picture of the world.
Rick Mullin is a journalist and painter whose poetry has appeared in several print and online journals including Measure, Unsplendid, Envoi and Shit Creek Review. His chapbook, Aquinas Flinched, is available from Exot Books . His booklength poem, Huncke, is available from Seven Towers, Dublin. He lives in northern New Jersey.
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