"The Stream"

The stream of people flowed

in and out of museums

up and down hundreds of marbled steps

Laughing loudly,

children dashing around the Mall

Vendors with ice cones,

lemonade, chips and pretzels

We flowed with the stream

hot and tired

from walking all day

Our voices rose on the summer’s breeze

happy, vibrant, alive

Then we came to The Wall

with mirrored surface

and name after name after name

after name

The stream slowed

it ebbed

Voices hushed to soft whispers

butterfly touches

caressing the carved names

We stood,

fingers woven together

searching through our reflected images

for another reflection

The stream stopped

losing its motion

it shimmered in the silent

deep pools

Our heads bowed

we sighed

Our breath caused motion

and the stream trickled

onward

slowly

It flowed past the wall

and spilled onto a

grassy area

where past and present

water the future

Copyright 1996 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman