What Happened To The Wall?
In 1989 the Berlin Wall fell,
and with it my sanity.
We were students then, me in my first year,
secreting knowledge in fragments of the night,
the idle hours, the ones not spent on parties.
School had passed like a parent
shrugged off at the car in embarrassment.
Teenage angst was now philosophy and politics –
spirited and worthy.
I was crumbling
in some quiet recess of the halls of residence;
suffocating from the absence of uniform,
drowning in love unrequited;
coming apart in my dreams.
My friend returned from her trip to Berlin
with pieces of the wall to give to her friends.
I kept mine under my pillow
where it soaked up the trauma of a mind bursting its banks.
Prosperity and hope did not touch me that year,
nor for many later.
While people danced in the streets
I clutched my own wall of terror
like a sinister teddy bear that would not loosen its grip.
The wall cast a shadow so forbidding
that I never thought I’d see the other side.
I didn’t even dare to picture the landscape beyond.
Meanwhile, in some wine soaked corner of Europe
an angry youth refused to celebrate with his friends.
He wouldn’t, couldn’t stop asking
why it had taken so long.
And what would happen to the pieces crumbled at their feet?
He and I both were building parapet from rubble,
being crushed by the effort.
I wonder now,
what happened to his wall?