I sit in the gold-seated chair,
Scanning Museum Without Walls,
A book on modern art
That my now long gone brother
Gave me to teach me
How to understand
And to bring to life
Treasures from the past.

My moist eyes skim
For the meaning
That dead artists
Left behind them.

I greedily devour the words,
The black text shines
Bright on the ivory pages,
And a yellow marker has
Highlighted in bright gold
The more important ideas.

I struggle to pick up threads
Of lost conversations
With the author
And with my absent brother.
His gift makes possible
This recall of treasures
From the past in art
And in life.

© by James Rogerson.
Used with the author's permission.