Page 57 - San Diego Woman Magazine
P. 57
POE TR Y C ORNER
Stars Across the Span Locked Away
By Dom Gagliardi By Dom Gagliardi
Beneath an azure sky, He sits emotionless and still,
you lie stretched in marveled majesty. gnarled fingers claw a beaten cane
Granite arched towers remain clenched between his legs
anchored in the currents below that are clad in well-worn cloth.
while snarled, steel cables lift you to the heavens. Glossy eyes peer out from folds of skin,
Suspended, staring at nothing, remembering everything
in wonderment, history, endurance, in livid detail or convoluted chaos,
aged well for a century plus a half. reaching with transcendent arms
to recapture the fulfillment
Your presence sparks the imagination and the chances lost.
of engineering admired,
the sweat, stamina, and sacrifice On his self-proclaimed throne he sits,
of lives lost, and each day listens to the silence
a contribution to your fruition. or the noise from a time long past,
You stand in splendor for all the world to see. of frivolous laughter or mournful tears,
alone and waiting.
Unlike those who now promenade along your spine, The lines on his face contain the stories
frequently stopping along the way, and send a message.
not to catch a glimpse of your glory, Is it a grimace of regret, or a grin of delight?
but with selfie sticks extended,
recording the superficial smiles, If he notices me spying from the distance,
of self-affirmed fashionistas, he makes no sign,
as if we should all stop to notice, for I have seen him before,
only to see the emptiness they exude, and each time
while submerged in their own conceits, I allow him his chance
oblivious to the true persona around them. to sing with the chirping birds in joyful celebration,
or be reminded of a life that has vanished
I imagine the onlookers, with the persistent rustling of leaves
the wives and children One day, I, too, may take his place
watching in awe and worry so many years ago, perched on my bench,
from a place called Brooklyn staring down at the tops of my shoes
as you were slowly raised and stretched, remembering the dance or the slow walk to sadness.
and feel dismayed by the subtle juxtaposition. Alone and waiting,
Your grandeur provides the backdrop for temporal vanity, silently staring at the regrets,
while yours remains the shining magnificence. or the joy of a life well-lived
that has slowly been locked away.
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