Its hard moving bricks
one at a time.
Bending over with aches in my back and callouses on my hands
I am piling bricks
in a formation around me.
Bloody memories like cement
fortify this new, half-built wall.
I stop
breathing heavy and with red dust
covering my cheeks
I see the endless sky
the grey of storm clouds smeared across the surface of reality
and my bricks begin to seem small.
And I notice that I look ridiculous
standing behind an unfinished wall
enclosed by fear and mortar.
So I put down the spatula
lay in the grass and sigh.
My half wall becomes a monument to my freedom.
