Nameless Poem by Jenny Kalahar

The art collector sits at home
parting curtains
watching for the mail truck
from nine until eleven
waiting for deliveries
of paintings that come
from unknown artists
who never signed what they created

An anonymous collector of anonymous works
they pile up in anonymous piles
in the closets, in the kitchen
in the attic and the basement.
Garish colors scream and moan
and ask for more and more attention
from their only lover, in their only home
calling to him in oil and acrylic
in watercolors dehydrating with each plea

And still the art collector sits
waiting for the next to come
loving it as it is stripped of packaging
admiring it as he places it away.
Walking through his hallways
the forgotten grab his legs
and sob and want for more.
The art collector touches one or two
feels the raised paint strokes and textures
runs his hand along the frame
or at the naked canvas of the top

The art collector sits at home
parting curtains
watching for the next to come
thinking he is preserving them
saving the anonymous from anonymity
not realizing that they each do know their name