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| The Sculpture Garden | |
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A hungry shape with a hollow feeling rings to the touch. Something else doubles back on itself, mouthless seeking to lick a wound. Five hunks hewn to sharp edges lie on the grass, almost a figure; it can fit in your garden without the embarrassment of |
an endless smile or nudity. The material once was soft; after it did not crack in the furnace fire, it will outlast you and your children's children. The sifting archeologist who has his schemata of a twenty first century citizen's life will puzzle where to place these pieces. —Maggie Hunt-Cohn |
"The Sculpture Garden," from The Sculpture Garden: Poems by Maggie Hunt-Cohn
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