Six Burghers of Calais
With their branches cut off
the six trees left standing
by the corner
resemble the bare torsos
of as many men: clean and light
and without hair.
But these six are not stone.
That gesture of theirs,
whatever it means, that shrug
or nod: they want to live forever.
Now they throw long and wounded
shadows up the hill. No one asks:
Where are the leaves? The rings?
The golden crown?
They wait with a grief gone
blind—for the limbs lost,
the many years,
the very ground
they thought they would die for.
(Published previously in Spoon River Poetry Review)
Filed under: Past Ten Sleep | Leave a Comment
Tags: Rodin, sculpture, trees
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Mosey Time is a blog by Mark Mitchell that features daily postings. Most are very short and at least partly in the haiku tradition. On Sundays there may be longer pieces of writing. If you like you can subscribe to receive these as daily emails or as an RSS feed.
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