Gargoyles

Gargoyles were placed on buildings for protection, to absorb sin and allow rainwater to pass through them, cleansing consecrated ground. I’ve been miserably reading Larkin poetry (which incidentally, I don’t find depressing or miserable at all, unlike most people I know who have read his work) which probably explains this entry. I just like the idea of our bodies being fragile temples, on which we can build a sort of gargoyle, a guardian to dull certain pains and allow water to cleanse us of memory.

Gargoyles

It’s funny how when sitting
On a roadside in the evening
With one you half remember from a diary
Years ago,

The past’s granite talons scratch you
With soft fists tainted with jasmine,
Or hotel sheets from Holland, or mock-tudor icing,
Snow.

You can feel stone hands grip tighter
On a heart you were sure was stronger
From a hundred days of placing small grey
Guardians on your chest,

And just one sentence leaves you helpless,
Like “you haven’t changed at all’ or worse:
“I always seemed to hurt the ones I know
That loved me best”.

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About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

2 responses to “Gargoyles

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