A Unicorn Rests in the Garden
Forgive me, Father,
for I’ve moved in.
By day, I wear trainers and a canvas tote,
admire the fresco fragments.
But when the bells go still
and the guard bolts the north door,
I slide behind the unicorn tapestries
and sigh
like a secret.
I live here now.
You may have heard me
treading the Fuentidueña apse,
sweeping the limestone with my hem,
drawing water from the courtyard fountain
in a chipped twelfth-century bowl.
The sound of quill on vellum?
Also me.
I levitate by St. Margaret
during evening meditations,
catnap in the millefleurs,
nibble on stale wafers and docent’s alms.
Sometimes I steep mugwort in holy water.
I dream better that way.
Each night I visit one of you —
last night, the Bishop
with the falcon stare and missing hand —
tonight, the Father of the Broken Nose.
You seem understanding.
I tell you this because
the stones here listen better
than the living ever did,
because you don’t interrupt,
because you’ve seen centuries of women
wishing for peace
and settling for quiet corners.
Mind if I stay?
19 thoughts on "A Unicorn Rests in the Garden"
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What a fanciful and fun concept—it would make a great movie. Enjoyed this, thanks!
Especially like:
I live here now.
You may have heard me
treading the Fuentidueña apse,
sweeping the limestone with my hem,
drawing water from the courtyard fountain
in a chipped twelfth-century bowl.
The sound of quill on vellum?
Also me.
thank you,
*Don’t Eat the Pictures* = the ur-text — https://youtu.be/MUtkBzj7nvU?feature=shared
👏
I’ve seen that unicorn in person and thought, isn’t his little corral rather small? Surely he needs more room to roam. Perhaps he simply leaps over the rails when he’s ready, returns to rest there as he pleases. Or is he, as seems more likely, a captive?
But I’ve missed the point of your wonderful poem, which is the joy one would have in a treasure house like the Cloisters, considering whether that unicorn needs rescuing or not. 😏
🦄🥲🥀🙌 thank you
Reverberates. Awesome.
thank you 🙏
That last stanza held my heart in its hands.
🫶🏼 🦄
Wonderful beginning to a fun fantasy of a poem. I want to join the unicorn!
there’s room for everyone in the imaginary cloisters 💐
I love how this loveable unicorn has made himself a home. In the first stanza, however, should I not be hearing the echo of an act of contrition (“Bless me Father, for I have sinned”)? Is it so wrong for him to slide into the tapestries?
mea culpa! thank you 🙏
I spent so much time at the Cloisters when my son was an infant. I forgot how much I enjoyed it and how much I missed it when I first moved away. This was like visiting again, thank you.
thank you 🙏
Incredible beginning: “Forgive me, Father,
for I’ve moved in.”
can see and feel this poem, especially, “I slide behind the unicorn tapestries/and sigh/like a secret.”
Yes!: “the stones here listen better/than the living ever did,/
because you don’t interrupt,
many thanks 🙏
The opening is brilliant and grabbing:
“Forgive me, Father,
for I’ve moved in.”
How could I not love the rest of the poem after that!
😇 thank you