Last Centaur

By Sean Jordan
July 2nd, 2002

“Odd” cannot begin to describe
this strange combination of creatures;
A centaur, with the power and grandeur of a horse
And the sorrow and sickness of a man.
His neck is bent, almost snapping, along his shoulder.
His arms flail out in desperate despair.

Bronzed for an eternity;
Captured in a moment.

“He looks broken,” a girl whispers, awe-struck
As she and her companion sit at the creature’s hooves.
He is the last of the centaurs, they discover later,
Meant to symbolize the death of mythology, paganism, and imagination
Under the crushing weight of Christianity.

Creepy, yet compelling.
The girl walks around the statue slowly, taking in the sight,
Trying to make sense of the centaur’s suffering.
Her companion declares that had he designed the statue,
It would have stood proudly, tall,
A regal man among beasts
Rather than a burdened beast among men.

The girl ignores his commentary,
Knowing he has missed the point, as have so many others,
Wanting to understand – to empathize! – with the statue’s spirit.
After several quiet moments, she sits back down,
Unable to express the movement within her,
Unable to stand for the lonely centaur.

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Copyright Sean J. Jordan, 2008. All Rights Reserved.
Photo Copyright Kirby Vandivort.
The author grants permission for this poem to be distributed freely for non-commercial use.