Still the Eyes of Our Own People

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An Excerpt

In the main hall of the History Museum hung an oversized copy of Evelyn De Morgan’s Helen of Troy.  Every man entering paused before the painting to remember, then  proceeded to the exhibition areas of the museum to begin drinking and  singing and forgetting. They did this forgetting for many years until  Helen of Troy was no longer meaningful. Without significance, she  disintegrated with time, and no artist in their midst thought to  preserve her, nor any of her mothers, sisters, or daughters.  Nevertheless, every man entering the museum for the annual Forgetting  Exhibition became aware of a black melancholy, a constant companion  brought forward in this joyous celebration, a companion to be mocked and  ridiculed, and dunked and drugged, buried.

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