"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