I stop at the statue of Mary,
white marble dedicated a century ago. There I pause – something in me turning to devotion at the sight of her – to behold this stone-cold effigy.
Together, we continue the silence that attached itself to me when I walked among the graves.
From there, I enter the gate, walk into the noisy city. A dark-skinned post-man steps down from his truck, sees her, too.
He genuflects, ancient devotion repeated for this stone-cold effigy.