Book of Hours

I am a museum.

You walk around inside of me
I hold different art exhibits
Each exhibit created by somebody who
was
is
a part of my life.

You know that I am a piece of art.
But, not by your favorite painter,
or not from your favorite time period.

You gaze in awe.

I can tell
I’m not your favorite artist
I’m not your favorite museum

The exhibits within my lungs are intriguing
But, only for an afternoon when it’s raining out.

You don’t choose to come again,
or to seek comfort from the art on a bad day,
or tell your friends about the impression the art has made on you.

You keep me as a memory within the walls of your own museum.

My masterpiece may only hang in storage with the lights turned out,
and I may never make it to their walls.

When you walk out of my museum
please
remember
to shut the door if you aren’t going to bother coming again.