just bring me a piece of the wall she says and I think of all the abandoned holiday- stones from beaches, crags and from roadsides bring me a stone like a piece of identity that makes this unlike another I could palm from my walkway and it wouldn't matter the Colosseum, Stonehenge, the moon and all the walls: Berlin, Wailing or Great each stone just that one stone built up by one stone and the one I did not bring back sits like all stones waiting for the fingers of someone willing while the weight of the world shifts one more stone's worth
:: bio ::
Dorothy Mahoney teaches at Essex High School in Windsor, Ontario. She has two books of poetry with Black Moss Press (Through Painted Skies- 1997 and Returning to the Point- 2001). Mahoney likes to garden and is currently working on a chapbook of gardening poems.
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