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.