Uffizi
Florence,Spring 2006
We lounge in the 8.30 am queue
watching the marbled living statues
for so long, we grow bored and
speak instead of how quickly the
tourists stride across the piazza,
how determined they are to tick off
the must-see, must–snap places.
Unlike us, who wait patiently for paintings
we have peered at in books, on slides,
Mouths dry, licking our lips,
the proximity of genius making us shudder,
The queue quivers – false alarm –
the disabled are wheeled or guided in,
we sigh—not long now.
And we end up on the roof, drinking chocolate.
After all that pacing and staring, speechless,
surprised at how small the Leonardos,
how huge the Titians, how bright the Botticellis,
how thick this chocolate, how blue the sky,
our eyes grown indiscriminate with so much looking
Vivien Jones lives in southwest Scotland, writing poetry and prose, year about. Two chapbooks preceded a first poetry collection , About Time, Too (Indigo Dreams Publishing) published September 2010. She also won the 2010 Poetry London Prize. Find out more here.