Revisionist Poetry – “Silent Council” – Discussion #1, v.3

Three statues lean into a private parliament of stone.
A single bulb makes slow decisions across their knees;
bronze knuckles etch coastlines into the gallery's base,
marble eyes hold the names they dare not say aloud.
They quarrel with the language of the body —
a cracked thumb points east, a jaw tightens like a border,
a fractured nose becomes the map of an embargo.
One statue keeps a child's hand in bas-relief,
another carries a collar of shell fragments and prayers.
They trade fragments: the recipe for a ceasefire,
a hospital ledger scored into someone’s thigh.
Patrons pass, pocket-silent; only the night-guard lingers,
taking inventory of what stays and what must go back into the dark.
This is not decoration. It is witness with a pulse,
a ledger with the edges sharpened. Leave your hand
on the plinth long enough and you will take one small truth away:
art keeps a light no state can fully purchase.