Writing exercise #1

The last day the Berlin Wall came down
While we slept on my grandmother’s porch
You confessed you were a cookie
Crumbling at your center
The splinters of our respite
Penetrating your faults
You are four parts of edible
A pit that rest heavy in the cellar of my stomach
Brick and mortar coating my diaphragm
Begging to be torn down
With feeble hands
These hands are not yours
These hands have the crumbs of you on them
Evidence of your unfolding
A windstorm broken in half
Over the knee of a large man
His weight bending the floorboards
Of my grandmother’s porch
The crater we have curled up within
We are a greedy fetus
Growing fat on the promise of redemption
Laughing with holes
In our smiles
Broken sighs
In the chest of giants
We didn’t know we were the wheezing
Of something greater
The exaltation
Of daylight between to border
Of war torn cities
Our fingers digging for faith
At each other’s throat
Will be the first stones
We take down