Dodge the filthy clumps,
their chilblained faces,
rabbit-eyes, broken teeth.
Ease into the stone
church, the one work
you will give them: the virgin,
charcoal-lined, comfort
for the people in their hours
at the furnace, the spools.
With paregoric and tonic bitters,
endure the stained light,
cold arches, and eye-sockets.
Empty, unpainted, the dreadful
ovals will tell what she felt
when she touched her son,
cool and rigid as marble
awaiting the chisel, pale
as old muslin, spilt cream.
Artist's Commentary:
This poem speaks to me of abandonment. This mirrors the pervasive theme in my collage Condon Abandoned. It incorporates photos and drawings of lonely and pristine images that evoke a sense of emptiness and quiet.