A Larger Stone – Upon Reading the Poem

The Poet I imagine sat on the bench there

contemplating the figure in her sanctuary of grief,

the dark face looking out, saw the nameless gift,

sensed “the privacy of loss the loneness of survival”, 

knew in her bones the kind of grief that is so complete

it is truly larger than life, came home to give words

to the wordless, so that, tho I may never see this garden

nor this exquisite figure, I may feel the potent truth she

holds folded in her unseen hand.

*My aunt Pat, Adrienne Richard, a fine poet, sent me a poem she just finished entitled “A Visit to St-Gauden’s Statue to Grief in Rock Creek Church Cemetery, Washington, D.C”. I do not have the privilege of reproducing the poem here tho I wish I could. Neither do I have the rights to post an image of the statue in question, merely the link so you, too, might visit.

St-Gaudens Memorial 

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About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, Poetry, The River and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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