What the Fountain Remembers
There’s a reason
You pause,
look down
past the hand holding
your umbrella.
a small brick
engraved
in front of your feet
Built 1792
The stones around the fountain are
brown
shining dully
slick with rain
the harbor beyond
clamors silently
in the fog,
white flecks of birds
drifting by
You wonder
what the harbor looked like
back then.
You wonder what
the brown cobbles
have seen.
The stones look up at you
wearily appreciative
because most walk by
without wondering
And so the ghosts are kept silent
You feel an urgency,
The desire of the stones to tell you
The past they hold onto.
They wish to speak of
the young girl who sat at the fountain
waiting for a ship to dock
twisting a handkerchief in
clammy fingers
About her love, who ran to her,
dropping suitcases
laughter and tears
as her skirts swished
as he twirled her,
And got down on one knee
They wish to tell you of
A boy with frightened eyes
who sat on the rough ground
crying for his mother
long into the night
before the constable herded him away.
The stones are sentinels
heavy with memories
of those who are
long gone.
Memories
of the dockworker
who paused at the fountain
for a sip of cold water
Memories
of the stumbling figure who
sat dizzily in the dawn,
whiskey on his breath
Memories of the man with the paper
yelling words to a crowd
that cheered
and raised fists
They remember
the old woman
who brought seeds
to give the pigeons
that still gather every afternoon,
A reminder
of how the stones miss her
of how one day she simply never came back
Of how,
one way or another,
if enough time passes,
none of them return.
The stones were there for
All of the winters where the water froze over
Each beat of the scalding sun
Each rain that chipped away the engraved brick
laid there by a construction man
long ago
Built 1792
You tilt your head
curiously
for the stones seem bursting
with things to tell you
it’s a pity
you’ll never quite know all they’ve seen
The stones are sentinels
heavy with memories
of those who are
long gone.
And for a moment
You feel their weight
on your chest
They pull you
Place an ache
In your heart
How can you leave them here?
How can you let this feeling
slip away?
It takes effort to leave.
But finally,
your grip adjusts on the umbrella
and you turn away
moving on through the fog.
You join the people walking by
Past the fountain
Over the stones,
which thunder with the echoes of
a thousand footsteps
across centuries
across generations
each one eroding a bit more away
from that which keeps its memory.
You pause,
look down
past the hand holding
your umbrella.
a small brick
engraved
in front of your feet
Built 1792
The stones around the fountain are
brown
shining dully
slick with rain
the harbor beyond
clamors silently
in the fog,
white flecks of birds
drifting by
You wonder
what the harbor looked like
back then.
You wonder what
the brown cobbles
have seen.
The stones look up at you
wearily appreciative
because most walk by
without wondering
And so the ghosts are kept silent
You feel an urgency,
The desire of the stones to tell you
The past they hold onto.
They wish to speak of
the young girl who sat at the fountain
waiting for a ship to dock
twisting a handkerchief in
clammy fingers
About her love, who ran to her,
dropping suitcases
laughter and tears
as her skirts swished
as he twirled her,
And got down on one knee
They wish to tell you of
A boy with frightened eyes
who sat on the rough ground
crying for his mother
long into the night
before the constable herded him away.
The stones are sentinels
heavy with memories
of those who are
long gone.
Memories
of the dockworker
who paused at the fountain
for a sip of cold water
Memories
of the stumbling figure who
sat dizzily in the dawn,
whiskey on his breath
Memories of the man with the paper
yelling words to a crowd
that cheered
and raised fists
They remember
the old woman
who brought seeds
to give the pigeons
that still gather every afternoon,
A reminder
of how the stones miss her
of how one day she simply never came back
Of how,
one way or another,
if enough time passes,
none of them return.
The stones were there for
All of the winters where the water froze over
Each beat of the scalding sun
Each rain that chipped away the engraved brick
laid there by a construction man
long ago
Built 1792
You tilt your head
curiously
for the stones seem bursting
with things to tell you
it’s a pity
you’ll never quite know all they’ve seen
The stones are sentinels
heavy with memories
of those who are
long gone.
And for a moment
You feel their weight
on your chest
They pull you
Place an ache
In your heart
How can you leave them here?
How can you let this feeling
slip away?
It takes effort to leave.
But finally,
your grip adjusts on the umbrella
and you turn away
moving on through the fog.
You join the people walking by
Past the fountain
Over the stones,
which thunder with the echoes of
a thousand footsteps
across centuries
across generations
each one eroding a bit more away
from that which keeps its memory.