- 2020 Volume 15
I too stand where he stands,
right leg stretched forward,
weight rested on the left.
He stands tall, spine straight,
shoulders back. His gaze
is resolute and unwavering.
He casts his sling over his shoulder
and scans the land around him
with acute understanding.
He knows, as I know, the space
around him; the delicately carved
statue of Aurora
in the center of a crystal fountain,
the trees in the gardens teeming
with deep green, pungent, pears,
the woman who sits on a stool outside
a stone church, watching those who pass
with congenital malformation.
He stands looming in the sun,
exposed body bathing
and glistening in the light.
He knows. He knows so well
that nothing could derail him
from his stark fortitude.
But in all his beauty and glory,
he is still simply a boy. And his face,
while resolute, is made of stone.
And stone is only a frozen facade,
Carved by an invisible, wanting hand,
and plastered until all the suns are gone.
I too am made of stone.