They walk down a corridor lined
with portraits hung inwardly
on the walls. Stale messages

from adolescent bullies pull
at the corners of my mouth,
clouds dump rain from the blue sky

of my eyes. I hear vice whispered
as I escape to this portico—a forgotten
impasse. When the men detach

themselves from those walls to pass
through their namesake colonnade,
frames begin to rattle

as portraits of women turn toward me. Face
after face to remind me I can touch
mine. It is still here

along with life-affirming sadness
to strengthen my limbs.