Jeulia
she was a metal structure
along the side of the freeway
holding her hands out
for people to come by and
visit the museum
my family never went
because the price was unbearably
high, but that
didn't stop me from
waving back
as if Jeulia was my friend
I called her
Scraggly Jeuls from the
oxidation and sun-burnt lines
under her eyes, thinking of
how sad it made her look
lots of folks exited
the museum and
talked over each other
in chipper pairs, without
any acknowledgment
they didn't care like me
for weeks I begged
my brother to let me
take a picture in front of
that statue so I could
see Jeulia's expression up close
when he finally agreed,
I stuck my head out
the car window the entire
way there, believing she
could feel my excitement too
then we parked
my feeble legs ran toward
her and I saw that her
dress was cooked harsh
and hot, smelling like my father's
old workshop
my eyes started
to water
while my brother
snapped a picture, until
I saw a figure in the distance
it was another statue
I squinted harder to make
out a stubby sculpture,
but not as worn down as Jeulia,
surrounded by bushy,
pink flowers
under the shade,
this statue of the feminine kind
appeared shiny, untouched,
well-cared for, and I
couldn't help but notice the
position of her hands
she was waving at us
my puzzled brain had me
twisting my head to
tilt upward to see
beyond Jeulia's tall frame
and into her eyes
they were not sad at all,
in fact, they had a tender
demeanor about them
which made me question if
she was really built
for attracting tourists
or for the brass-colored girl
my brother called
out saying that we had
to leave so I drank the sight
of Scraggly Jeuls once more, still
wondering who she was
little did I know that
Scraggly Jeuls
was actually Jeulia Mae,
whose studio was the museum
back many centuries ago,
the aunt to Josie Mae
the girl by the flowers
from afar Jeulia looked
sad but close up she was very happy,
happy to be frozen in time
always facing her little niece
of merriment and shine
it was the niece
who Jeulia had her arms
out for, not the art enthusiasts
or sightseers or anyone
else for that matter
only sweet-colored Josie
I went home that day,
still oblivious of such history,
to tape the picture in my
journal of when I looked up
at Jeulia Mae
it was on a brand new
page among other landmarks
I stuck in there, because
we moved a lot and I
wanted something to stare at
to remember
those people and objects
who had no name to me were
great friends and, on
long drives, kept me company
when I study each one
of them the whole picture
seems to change, and their faces
smile harder the more I look
as if my presence makes them happy
