TOMAS MASARYK ON THE MIDWAY (REV.)

Back when I was at the University

The Tomas Masaryk monument

Stood in a field by itself.
Though not a rider, Masaryk

Sat stiffly on a bored bronze horse.
Some nights, dismounting,

He’d walk down the Midway
To check in with the statues
Crowding Rockefeller Chapel.
He might chat with Zoroaster
Or listen to Athanasius tell jokes
Of surprising puerility.

As he passed her, St. Cecilia
Sometimes hummed the opening bars
Of Jezu Kriste Scedre Kneze
Which he used to sing in Prague

When he was a boy and not an image.
There is a statue of a girl, a student,
Named Margaret Green. She stands
Next to the west nave entrance.
She gave him one night a prayer
I’d left carelessly behind
(The ambulatory was quiet; I’d gone there

To think about ghosts but fell asleep.).
Passing my dorm on his way back
Masaryk left the prayer in my mailbox.
(No, I didn't actually see him leave it
But how else could it have gotten there?)