The Burghers of Calais in Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden Not even the Hirshhorn Garden’s small reflecting pond was salvation from humidity’s heavy hand that lunchtime. Sun poured heat relentlessly From cloudless skies. I moved Closer to Rodin’s Burghers of Calais, to visit with the bronze man among them whom I most admire-- He is cast looking down head in hand, anguish deep at leaving home and hearth for duty I see him as a man despairing of these futile duties, yet mired permanently in bronze, unable to move himself or his city. I peek up, into his face, My eyes tear up at his well-sculpted agony, then I gasp. Rivulets of sweat run down his cheeks as well mine. I shake my head—is this illusion? An empty plastic water bottle lies next to the statue. Someone has tossed a saving bit of water onto the face of my Burgher. His tears are waste Mine are simply wasted. Joan Leotta Joan Leotta is a writer and story performer who has loved playing with words on page and stage since childhood. She is especially intrigued with the beauty of the ordinary and with finding alternative realities for visual art and sculpture
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
The Ekphrastic Review
COOKIES/PRIVACY
This website uses marketing and tracking technologies. Opting out of this will opt you out of all cookies, except for those needed to run the website. Note that some products may not work as well without tracking cookies. Opt Out of CookiesJoin us: Facebook and Bluesky
May 2025
|