Watercolor painting by Cathleen Cohen
In the museum garden lies
the limestone head of a bearded man,
salvage from an old hotel.
the limestone head of a bearded man,
salvage from an old hotel.
Is he an angel?
His gaze fixes on some point
or past desire.
His gaze fixes on some point
or past desire.
He no longer guards the street
from a high lintel,
charming those who gaze up
from a high lintel,
charming those who gaze up
at heavy-lidded eyes
and lips which part
to speak or sigh.
and lips which part
to speak or sigh.
Leaves twine through his tendrils
I long to touch,
some pitted by storms,
I long to touch,
some pitted by storms,
by smoke and time.
What was the artist’s aim?
To say … Here I am
What was the artist’s aim?
To say … Here I am
in this moment,
grasping a hammer,
chiseling the face of a god?
grasping a hammer,
chiseling the face of a god?
I picture gritty workrooms,
men hoisting stones,
locking patterns into place
men hoisting stones,
locking patterns into place
until they crumble
and are torn down.
Now this sculpture is tangled
and are torn down.
Now this sculpture is tangled
in roots and weeds.
I stroke his rough beard,
shaped like wind gusts.
I stroke his rough beard,
shaped like wind gusts.
He doesn’t flinch,
just surveys the sky
unwavering.
just surveys the sky
unwavering.
