This is what they told us art does:
makes you draw butterflies onto a stone wall
because the cement looks dry and dehydrated from last month's earthquake
this is what they told us art doesn't do:
make you explain why, when or where
you wrote a few words then threw them in the river
for no reason this is what they told us art does
gives you a sturdier step, a smile, a thank you
for the music, for the note, for the elation at dance
but this is what art doesn't do to you,
it doesn't replace your old couch for a designer gleam
does not feed your starving children, they said
does not make you return to the girl you love because she couldn't wait
longer for your return
this is what they told us art does;
makes you bear what falls on you, like stone
like grey colored cement walls, that turn into butterflies
that would sometimes fly with your children and feed them
things you could not think of scavenging.
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