At the Florence Griswold Art Museum, Old Lyme, CT
And here they disembarked from the train
to make art.
Here, they were welcomed.
Here, they painted on dark doors and wall panels.
Here, even a few women artists were allowed.
Here, they painted cows and sheep.
Far from city streets.
In the late afternoon, the winter sun fills these rooms
searching for the painters who once sang its praises,
who grabbed their paint boxes and canvases
and ran down country lanes to favorite spots,
who shaped their hopes and shadows
with pigments instead of laws.
And now they are mostly forgotten
in the hues of time.
But here, their stories settle in the brushstrokes,
in the well-worn porch boards,
in the path to the river,
in the cracks of light.