Sunday, March 27, 2011
Block by block, metal trowel against stone
a slap of mortar, bricks lifted into place
to make a wall, whose length and height
can be determined when it’s stopped,
like the Great wall of China over 5,000 miles.
"Protection against our enemies," they said
the hot breath of, “I hate you,” quickly dried
the cement bond making it impenetrable
finger nails broken, finger tips bleeding
from trying to scratch a hole to get inside.
There is little comfort longing for what
is inaccessible, futile purpose in clinging
to what is broken, like dandelions in the wind
scattered and planted elsewhere to grow again.
Time heals all wounds and like a keloid
scar marks tracks in memory of that pain
if only to go back in time and try to make
things whole again maybe then the damn wall
can be torn down and be a loving home instead.