Row

by Jennifer Moore

When all the boats were leaving
you were still on shore,
waving to your imagined self on board.

After the fanfare is over,
we learn to favor silence.

In 1911, visitors gathered
to view the empty wall
where the Mona Lisa,
stolen, used to hang.

Wild apple, leaves long gone,
how do you nurse
your discomfort?

When the artist closes a door
she paints a door-sized window;

the girl, a slipper in each hand,
rowing toward morning
in her yellow boat.