Pierced Through And Through Poem by Susan Williams

.
She stood there transfixed
inside her coat of many colors and patches
filthy with leaves and dirt and unknown stains,
huddling inside her layer after layer of smelly rags
trying to keep warm on this cold and blustery winter day.
I glanced down at her feet and winced.
Once the snow began falling
her feet would not fare as well in those mismatched tennis shoes
with their terminal holes in the toes
as the rest of her would fare in her multiple layers of clothes.
Her hair was matted and greasy
her face streaked with dirt
and grime had worked into the creases and pores
of her raddled old skin
but she stood there utterly transfixed
.....hypnotized and mesmerized
.....spellbound and bewitched
.............riveted
because there inches away
hanging on the wall
in front of her- -
an original Rembrandt.
I watched glory dawn on her countenance
as she stood there
pierced through and through
and after a while she mumbled
I'm not what you would call a common ordinary person
and I'm definitely not a wealthy woman in the way things are toted up
Nor am I a power in the world
or even a ripple in a small pond.
I'm just a poor old bag lady wandered in from the streets
to get warm
or maybe to steal this museum blind
like that security guard over there thinks.
I'm not sure who she was speaking to
she didn't turn her head and look at me or the man a few steps away
perhaps she spoke to the painting
while standing there so utterly spellbound.
After a few more minutes
she reached her hand out
a hand crippled and gnarled with arthritis
reaching out but not touching
not even trying to touch
It was more like her body was saying
Behold.
Then she murmured
here I stand inches away
from an original Rembrandt
hanging on the wall
I am old and grey and a nobody in every eye I meet
but here I am
standing
in the presence of a genius
who lived and breathed and pursued his art centuries ago
painting the soul of this man
capturing the spirit of this man
bringing his depths to the surface
his inner being, his inner identity, his pain, his grief, his shame, his regrets
all his emotional intensity
there
for the world of mankind to see
century after century
a human being and his essence individual and private no more
a living breathing work of art.
Look at those eyes- the eyes are so sorrowful that I want to comfort the man
forgive him for the wrong he has done that haunts the halls of the mind behind those eyes
I can see he is an aging warrior once arrogant and cruel
who only now sees that the sword in his hand
has done too much...
done too awful much.
How do I know this?
Witness those grieving eyes looking inward.
And look! Look at those colors can you believe
how all the colors brown can come so alive
in brushstrokes so rich and vibrant
Yes- now I can say I know the feeling of standing in the presence of genius
because I once upon a time saw an original Rembrandt
hanging on a wall
inches away from me.
She noted the security guard angling through the crowds
in our direction
and slipped away to the exit
and the security guard arrived huffing and puffing his face all red
where'd she go? that ragged creature here a moment ago.
I tell these street people they can't come in here
but they do as they will
yes, sir, they trespass whenever our backs are turned
sorry ma'am, sir, I hope she didn't disturb you
begging for money and such.
He sniffed and marched away still indignant at the trespass.
"Hummph. Trespass? What trespass? " the man a few feet away muttered.
"She spoke wiser than that tour guide over there
and with more heart than the guard has in his puffed-up chest
and with more understanding than most of us have
or could ever have
of the kind of regret
that I can see now in the eyes
of that old soldier with the golden helmet."
.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~©2017 susan williams