Bones in the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum

Look, dearest Andrew! 

(with your beloved ghost eyes).

Look here!

The cow skull hangs on the wall,

nude as a new babe although 

not soft, not warm, not chubby.

No, it looks like an elongated face 

with tiny eyes and a huge open scream.

Turn it over and it still screams,

but the extra bones on the underside 

are ornate, like frilly trimmings. 

These eyes are high and slanted 

over pinpoint nostrils,

and the scream this side

is angry.  

The lateral view

has a long, thin nose

like a pointing finger

and teeth that hang 

like the fringe on a curtain.

Here, the eyes

are cavernous.

Their sightless gaze might dark-swallow

one who looks back.

But this is the bare skull.

Her paintings are phantasmagorical

in the vast book I bought 

– do you remember? –

in May 1999, in SanFran on Pier 39, 

where you’d dreamed of taking me

our only afternoon there, 

on a holiday weekend

so we couldn’t post it home

to Australia.

Between flights out, luggage already 

checked in and weighed, 

I slung it in a brand new cabin bag 

over my shoulder 

to re-board,

trying to to look as if it wasn’t 

weighing me down. 

Like smuggling something unauthorised

onto a space shuttle.

The book. Actual size a little larger than my laptop, 

14-and-a-half by 11 inches or 36-and-a-half by 28 cm..

View the museum exhibit here.

Written for NaPoWriMo 2025, Day Two.

Also shared (off-prompt) with Friday Writings #171 at Poets and Storytellers United.

This Year, At Last …

After our 1998 world trip, Andrew and I left North America for home via San Francisco, an afternoon stopover to explore the city.

It was a holiday weekend. On Pier 39, Andrew briefly volunteered as assistant to a magician doing a show! Then we found a bookshop and I found a treasure: an oversized volume of quality prints of Georgia O’Keeffe paintings with her notes on their genesis.

I love discussions of artistic process. I adore Georgia O’Keeffe. Had to have it! But it was BIG. We’d need to post it … on a public holiday?

The shop assistant thought one particular Post Office might be open – but getting there wouldn't allow us time to make our outgoing flight. Could the shop send it to Australia later? That was complicated. No-one knew what the cost might be. In the end we just bought it and took it.

We found a luggage shop on the pier, and got a carry-on bag big enough. Because we were in transit between flights, we didn’t have to go through a full check-in. (This was before 9/11, after which security tightened a lot.) We ditched the small, very old and worn carry-on bag I’d left in an airport locker, packing my stuff around the book in the new one.

But, the weight limit – it mustn’t appear heavy! I managed to saunter aboard, swinging the bag carelessly, as if it wasn’t dislocating my shoulder!

This book remains one of my dearest treasures. So much so, I’ve scarcely dared open it since! It was displayed on my coffee table until the spine discoloured, then on a shelf in my bedroom. I have gazed long and often at the beautiful reproductions. But as for reading those fascinating process notes, I’ve barely begun. (Although bits I've dipped into did not disappoint.) It seemed too sacred a space to enter.

But I’m 82 now. How much more time do I have?

After some home renovations, that book is still among many in boxes in my garage. Time to find it, bring it out, really read it at last!

I don’t do New Year resolutions. But this year I have one. I’ll finally give myself that treat.

I found it! (It's a little larger than my laptop, 

14-and-a-half by 11 inches or 36-and-a-half by 28 cm.)

Written for Friday Writings #8: Resolutions at Poets and Storytellers United.