Two hours through the Pine Barrens
My sister and I impatient
through endless dusty trees
we read and reread the museum brochure
our legs stick to the seat
of Uncle Murray’s Volkswagen bug
Hot even with windows cranked down
Finally─ through the Lincoln Tunnel
straight up to the Met.

We enter fifteen minutes apart
One at a time─ at the time specified on each ticket─
(acidification from too many human breathers
could damage the display)
          Taking pictures, touching,
               even                     breathing on
the ancient relics        forbidden.

I am a blank slate.
Vow to remember every scene.
           Sniff the scent      muted sound
of air entombed           thousands of years ago
               the red of burnished pottery
     that stored water for gods to drink.

I imagine the feel on my fingers
                       the metallic taste against teeth
of jewel-encrusted      rings      necklaces      anklets
          Savor the soft sheen of aged gold
                         lining eating utensils
encrusted on clothes                Everywhere
               the gleam
     of emeralds rubies      diamonds
          in me a frisson of miracle.
               This first time─ like a first kiss─
     no expectations
no memories summon disappointments
                    to drop
          like discarded tickets on the sidewalk.
Instead I straighten to balance on my head
                    each impossibly tall headdress.

And, after,
such a shabby scene awaits outside.
Sixth Street crowded with cars.
Uncle Murray treats us to dinner
a Chinese below-the-street restaurant.
I can’t taste it.
          My teeth still chew
               on gems
lifted to my mouth with golden sticks