They started out in the twenties, each with their
dour expression. Hidden under sleek renovation of the
sixties—when the World’s Fair came to Seattle—these
two couples out of sight, till the ever onward movement—
progress—tore the walls down.
One couple went to dust
before a worker noticed the gargoyles and stopped
the work. The remaining couple held their breath—
what did they ever have to hope for in such a
want-to-be city—but these regal griffin gargoyles,
cut-out careful from Romanesque Revival stone,
with precision, recognized the intent to save.
But with any artifact—
what do we do? Eventually, people let go, but for a
moment the gargoyles dreamed a rebirth, Handed
over to the city center for restoration, hope fluttered,
a new home—they waited under wraps, cold, damp
rainy days, forgotten in an alley, passers-by unaware.
A new opera house being built behind them. These two
remaining lovers give up hope the day a dump truck
arrives and picks them up with the trash, they sigh,
wave goodbye, resigned to their fate.
