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    The Statue of Liberty

    On the Staten Island Ferry

    By A. E. Stallings

    July 1, 2025
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    As we pull away from the pier
    the bundled variegated crowd
    of commuters and tourists, pilgrims of a kind,
    chattering in a medley of mother tongues,
    flock to starboard
    e pluribus unum
    to catch a glimpse as we pass.
    I realize I’ve never seen
    Liberty in person, lifting up her lamp—
    a celebrity in the flesh,
    although her flesh is copper, her bones iron
    (a cousin to Monsieur Eiffel’s dame de fer)
    and though the golden door in days like these
    is shut against the yearnings of the huddled masses and the poor
    she stands there, great with gravitas, clothed in verdigris
    (the “green of Greece,” she is an ancient goddess!)
    colossal yet a woman, dwarfed by sky-crowding towers.
    And then I hear the black-haired girl in a pink coat, who points
    tugging at her mother’s sleeve,
    hopping in a little joyful dance.
    Mira! There she is!
    She’s beautiful!”
    (Her mother adds, she was a gift from France.)
    “She’s beautiful,” says the girl, “even though she’s green!
    She’s beautiful, even though she isn’t real!”
    And we all lean
    out for a better look
    and I’m surprised by everything I feel.

     

    The Statue of Liberty

    Photograph by Yunus Erdogu via Pexels (creative commons).

    Contributed By A. E. Stallings A. E. Stallings

    A. E. (Alicia) Stallings lives in Athens, Greece, with her husband, and is serving as the Oxford Professor of Poetry.

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