no doors just air. This was once the architect’s prison.
His obsession seen down river – a white monolith to death.
The guide said it’s only a few miles by the water’s way.
I looked at my obsession, a foot from me. I closed the distance
took the outstretched hand, my body at once at ease.
I looked back at his obsession in the haze, in the distance,
I understood his need to build it – prison walls filled with tears.
The Yamuna ebbs slowly down below. The sole
connection between prison and obsession.
It’s the in-between that sees everything,
that notes the passing of it all.
In its water stands a woman, bobbing from bended waist.
She’s always been there, beating clothes against the rocks.
She’s seen it all, this woman of the river – his lover,
the architect, the building, the rise and fall of kingdoms,
the coming of the hordes, the turning of the tides, the circle
come full round to another lover and her architect.
I’m staring at her rhythm, a timeless thrumming, each beat
a second gone, the clothes no cleaner than before.
I move to go, my obsession beckoning, the woman looks up,
eyes caught in my gaze. My heart catches her rhythm.
I know the architect’s prison, I carry it in me. We’ve seen
the river woman beat clothes against the rocks.
Sonya Groves is a teacher of English and History in San Antonio. She has published a short story in the Abydos Education Journal, has poetry publications in La Noria, The Voices Project, and Aries. She has been a conference presenter at the East Carolina University Multi-Cultural Literature Review Conference. Currently she is pursuing her Master’s degree in English at Our Lady of the Lake University.