li numa revista e gostei

an empty theatre: seats
shrouded in white
like rows of headstones;
the curtain about to rise
(or has it fallen?)
on a scene
of transcendental
silence.

and the audience?
a solitary figure sheathed
in black, a woman
in a hat perhaps
(more abstract
shape than a woman)
sitting alone
in the cavernous dark.

this is quintessencial hopper -
cliché of loneliness
transformed by brushstroke
into something part paint,
part desperation.
"oil on board", the label says,
as if even a tree
had to be sacrificed

- linda pastan