Grass, 1967

When I open  the  door,  I smile  and wave to people who  only
have  eyes  and  who  are  infinitely joyful.  I  see  my  children,
but  only the backs  of their  heads.  When they turn around,  I
don’t recognize  them.  They  once  had mouths  but  now  only
have  eyes.  I  want  to  leave  the  room  but   when  I do,  I  am
outside,  and everyone  else  is inside.  So next time, I open the
door  and  stay  inside.  But  then  everyone  is  outside.  Agnes
said that  solitude  and  freedom  are the same.  My solitude is
like the  grass.  I  become  so  aware of its  presence  that it  too
begins to feel like an  audience.  Sometimes  my solitude  grabs
my  phone  and  takes a  selfie,  posts  it  somewhere  for others
to   see   and    like.    Sometimes    people    comment   on   how
beautiful  my  solitude is  and  sometimes  my  solitude  replies
with  a  heart.  It  begins  to   follow  the  accounts  of  solitudes
that  are half its  age.  What if my solitude is  depressed?  What
if even my solitude doesn’t want to be alone?

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“This poem is from a book of poems called With My Back to the World, which is forthcoming in 2024 from FSG. These poems correspond with the artwork of Agnes Martin and also her Writings.”
—Victoria Chang