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Marble Inquest

By Meg Frances From Issue No. 6

I walk through museums

for free and treat them like

the rooms of my home;

forcing the public to become private again.

Why white?

Or eggshell

Or pearl

Or milky

Or halls and walls full of

little classical fantasies

everyone wants to feel sacred

obsessed with ivory and waxen faces

Other hues harden

if dug up, does dirt cheapen it?

Clean for coin, for calm, for cabinets

of little souvenirs

If I own something very pure

and expensive, does it make me richer?

Am I a national treasure yet?

Your cold white marble breast

is devoid of areola

is why

you stand there as I walk past you

in my live brown flesh

About Meg Frances More From Issue No. 6