Going to the Hirshhorn with My Mother

Outside, my mother considered the sculptures.
I considered the federal building

that would not disappear into the blue
plastic sky no matter how long I looked

for something else to look at
in the same general direction.

             In the museum there were too many
new directions. At first, my mother

took the escalator up and I took it down.
             Then we reversed. White hallways kept dividing

and opening into white apertures, but no light
             stared through them from one end to the other.

I looked for her in circles. Ahead, shadows shifted
shape. When I turned, they turned into strangers.