The following letter was submitted as a poem in response to the Observer’s story, “Pursuing a peacock and a promise,” which published in the Aug. 7 issue:
Fountain in Time
By Stan K. Sujka
Elizabeth, the daughter of the Florida sun,
her memory strolls Park Avenue,
her hand in mine.
From her grade school, along Central Park, the tracks,
to the fountain that calls her name.
Where Fourth of July concerts, picnics, art festivals, and parades
sent smiles to her face,
we walk together.
I can hear her laughter in the wind
as it weaves through the leaves of the giant oak trees.
The steel and wood tracts pulsate through the
heart of the town’s park;
they bring me back and forth to The Avenue,
but can’t bring her back.
The peacock, her favorite bird, walks lonely in the woods.
I hear its loud lament,
along the shores of Lake Virginia,
Dragging his colorful cloak,
it drops his pixie dust feathers along it path
a reminder of a child and her beauty lost so young.
It’s crown, bowed in sadness,
the peacock, frozen in bronze, rests on its pedestal.
Its water cloak whispers a prayer, hums a chant, or
or maybe sings a lullaby.
Roses at the statue’s feet,
bow their heads in the mist of heaven’s tears.
A rainbow, sprays color over the brick avenue,
from the heart of the earth where she rests,
kissing the heavens where her spirit soars.
A happy little girl, her memory strolls The Avenue,
as the peacock fountain stands guard,
over the place she loved.