"Fragments"
Another war has ended.
A city collapses upon itself.
Somehow these bridges still stand.
You brought me stones from Pons Aemilius,
determined to show me the beginnings of things.
The way you carried time in your pocket,
fragments of a century you could transpose
seizing their roughness in your palms
willing their past into you. I watched
you fill your bag, greedy for an identity,
a face, remnants of a hand.
Buildings are only derelicts, you said.
only the façade is worth preservation.
I shape your stones into shadows leaving.
The taste of mulsum stays on my tongue,
mingles with the dust. I arch into the
Tiber and witness your small body
recede into a boy so young he can only
dream of the next stone he will take.
*mulsum - a Roman wine of grape and honey.
© 2005 Emusing (Lois P. Jones)
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