the wailing wall April 2, 2016
there is this thing children do
where when another child
has spent all morning crafting a toy house
he comes along and kicks it over
just to make a crash
and watch her cry
if she will.
if you watch his face
you can witness his glee
at the power this gives him.
every time i have built a new home
you have come to kick it over.
how long will it be before you return
to me with your thin-lipped smile
and gloating eyes? pretending
i was the one to wrong you
but you have forgiven me this time.
i have salvaged the rubble and repaired
the cracks in the foundation. why
don’t i cease my rebuilding so you have nothing
to destroy next time? you would revisit me
and find me as you left me and then
what? ah, then you would insist
i play again. you would sit and place
the first blocks. waiting. watching
for the moment i find pleasure
to strike and run.
if you quit striking, kicking, demolishing
you won’t have to run no more
and you will be fine right where you are with you.
i’m glad i’m me. it’s more fun to build up
than tearing down will ever be. and
i, i sleep well and never need to run
from my shadow. tomorrow i begin
to frame new walls. soon, soon my temple
will be swept and consecrated.