Nothing pretty about the war between the North and the South, even if the monument to the very same (a stone's throw from my apartment) was decked out with a wreath this past Monday. Not being a holiday, I couldn't quite figure why it was there. Perhaps I simply missed something.
Standing there, I thought of those cryptic words that were recorded as coming from the mouth of Jesus, who knew how to turn a phrase or two.
"Let the dead bury the dead."
Then I thought of James Joyce and old boyfriends. Stream of consciousness mind wanderings.
It's a nice monument even if I don't feel anything when I am standing in front of it. For that, you'd have to take me to the Vietnam Memorial which has a peculiar power all its own, one which was sought in the 9/11 memorial here in Gotham. I've been to the latter more than once, and find it unsettling, which may have everything to do with having lived through those events firsthand.