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The Wall (poem)

By Eva Hagenhofer

A war that officially wasn't
weighs on my generation ...
like a stone.
Some have been bent
as it sat on their souls.
Some have been crushed
and miss parts they were born with.
Some have choked
on the hard bits dusted-up.
Some have attempted
to make heavy seem light
hoping to dislodge its weight.

Still it sits, a stubborn beast
that blocks the way to US,
we who did and we who didn't
believe
fight
march
bleed
rescue
run
leave
live
loose
die.

Now a wall of polished stone-
too long, too filled with names too young-
reflects our time,
becomes a shrine
where fingers tracing letters
etch memory into stone,
and where, like salted memories,
tears can fall,
seep into our cracks,
erode the jagged edges of our shared years
becoming stones to pave a way...
maybe enough to build a bridge.

—Eva Hagenhofer