Film Photography > Poetry

Pythia calls out to me in her sundress and tells me she still has my necklace.

The one that fell off my neck,
when I rode my bicycle past her apartment.

We stand in the gallery
Side by side and have
Room enough.

In the museum,
Looking for the golden woman
Sculpture reaching for the

Her two friends race up
The flights of stairs but I halt alone,
On the third floor

Feeling the art is around the corner
Calling me
Following my artist instint.

She shows me her scar beside her
Left eye and tells me it was from an accident as a child,
It’s on her temple.

I kiss it gently
To heal and wash away the old pain.

She quickly darts off smiling and I
Gaze at the sculptures, solitary in this

Feeling lighthearted in all my heavines.

I found someone that sees me who who I am inside,

Does not deny my freedom of being,
Where I don’t have to be stationary
As a monument.
Rooted and faceted
Placed for someone else’s
Journey to be manifested.

The last gallery had shrouded figures
Reminiscent of my own life’s work
In photography.

I’m always a ghost of my past and present,

One would vanish as you walked by the image,
Behind a power pole and then reappear
As you came nearer.

The other side had large pop art
Taking more room then what they really need to say.

I needed my bicycle fixed for the summer rides,

It was funny that as I rode my bicycle

Past Pythia,

That the clasp came loose
On my necklace
And fell gently and caught
The sunlight
In a strange

That she would see it
Falling towards the pavement
In mid air

Only deities like this have these kind of eyes.

Also how we came together
On our way separately to see the same artwork and exhibitions.

That my Raleigh road bike was also

And partial payment on the bicycle
Was having my art on the cover of

An oracle of nature,

In a gold and cerulean sequin gown
On top of a river,

A resurrection Ophelia.

Life presents these parables and mysteries,
For us to unravel swiftly

Also Unveiled slowly in a fashion of

To help guide our decisions

On how to adapt and heal and feel love
To give without too much effort.

This birth of a feeling.

Not held back in endless

Pythia graced me in this dream
For this poem it seems,

And maybe I’ll put on my Buffalo necklace
The next time I ride
And not hide
In societies

Slow drag.

Francis A willey
March 24th 2023

Past Pythia