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Hadrian's WallDoug Ramspeck
The churchyard wall kept us from seeing who was speaking
and also the mourning doves, but for all that the grief of Hadrian
was pronounced in the evening air, the grief when his lover Antinoüs was lost and Hadrian deified him. The conversation we overheard
was about the center of the prokaryotic cell. Where the elements
mingle freely. Which is not the same thing as the transition
in a life when you begin to think more about what you do not
want to lose. And soon the churchyard wall grew invisible
at twilight, reminding me of when you close your eyes
but still you have a memory of what you saw, an impression
you could easily put a hand through, which got me to wondering
about the barbarians and how Hadrian could have believed
he’d keep them out. If only we could resurrect it stone by stone.
If only we could lift each heavy slab. It is this holding on
that reminds me of the house wren that once built its nest
in a flower pot in our back yard. And we, I guess, were the barbarians.
I lifted the clay pot one morning and out they flew. And, surprised,
I dropped it on the cement and so it shattered. Shattered like voices
squeezing through a stone wall with the mourning doves at dusk.
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