≈ 2 min read
At Dionysos, over dinner,
I looked up from my plate.
Above the talk and clink of glasses,
the Acropolis held the light.
I raised my phone to keep a moment
that had taken centuries to reach me.
Did those who lifted stone upon stone
ever picture someone sitting here,
twenty-five centuries later,
pausing in the middle of a meal
to photograph what they were building,
and wonder about their lives?
And two thousand years from now,
will someone sit beneath this hill,
their dinner cooling as they look?
Will these columns still interrupt
a conversation, still make a stranger
reach for some new way to remember?
Perhaps they will wonder about us:
the diners with our little glowing screens,
so certain we were living in the present.
And I, who came to gaze at ancient stones,
will belong to the distant past
someone tries to imagine over dinner.
