“Stones and Mortar,

Clay and Water,

mix and lay your bricks straight!”

Commands the Stone-Mason

in his harsh, raspy voice.

I hear him like it was yesterday,

And turn quickly to see if he is watching me…

But it is only a shadow of a memory

And I don’t see his face anywhere,

Though his voice still echoes

In my mind…


Now,

After many years of raw red hands,

Bleeding into the stone they held;

I build my walls well,

For, I was taught,

By the men in my father’s house…

And learned my lessons well.


My first wall was weak,

Made of clay and bricks,

Could not withstand a simple push…

And it fell

My wall,

And broke my heart-


My next wall was stronger,

Longer,

I added pebbles and sand to the mortar-

But

I mixed it with too much water

And this one too,

came tumbling down-

Now

I gritted my teeth in frustration,

For we were not allowed to cry-


And I watched the men in my father’s house.

How easy they make it look!

Mix and Load-

Slap the mortar down-

Set the stone in place

And move on down the line…

Slowly the wall begins to form.

I watched these strong men

Built like granite,

Hands like vises that can squeeze

Life from stone,

I watch and I learn the secret,

The secret of the Stone-Masons:

They don’t build with their hands,

They build with their hearts-

They don’t see where they lay the stone,

They feel it in their soul,

And I learned from the men in my father’s house

How to build a wall…


How to surround myself with stone

And work with Granite, marble, and Red Flint,

With its sharp edges that cut into your hands

And makes them bleed

Scarlet drops that stain your shirt…

That’s okay, the masons tell me,

The blood makes the wall stronger,

And gives the mortar its true color…

I look into their eyes to see if they are lying-

But

I see only their pain

That they try to hide from each other…

And jokingly,

They call me their Little Stone Mother-

Wondering,

But not asking

Why I need to learn

What they have to teach…


But

I tell them nothing,

Only watch and build.

Letting my heart grow as hard as my hands

That callas and bleed-


But at last,

My wall slowly forms…

And it is as tall

And as thick, as strong

As the men who gather around it,

Marveling at its color,

Thinking it is because I am a woman-


But

Not believing that I bled more,

Poured more of my life’s blood

Than I could spare-

And though

I am weak,

My wall is not-

And they push and lean

And shove,

But my wall is true

And holds still…


The men look at each other

Never believing their little Stone Mother

Could do what they were born to…

And

I walk away,

Knowing I no longer need to stay,

For I can build a wall

That not even the men in my father’s house

Can knock down…

And that at last

Is strong enough for me…