Looking at Medieval Art

168 | Richie Hofmann I’m by myself again, looking at bright green tapestries, a painted box in which was kept a human heart. A skeleton with a long, pointed pole piercing the ribs of a dying man. I lunch alone on chunks of venison. The Black Death feels distant, like you. The medieval streets have been widened by modern instruments of pain. I look for a stranger with whom to act out the gamut of jealousy, obsession, control— until his body, like a soul, slips out from mine. poetry Looking at Medieval Art Richie Hofmann ...