I picked up the first stone And set it where the wall had split My hands remembered mortar Though my mind had forgotten it The woman next to me Said nothing, just kept working And the silence between us Was the kindest thing I'd heard in Months of walking Months of wind Months of being no one's Anything But the wall goes up Stone by stone by stone And every piece I place Becomes a little more like home I am mending I am mending Not the wall, not the garden Not the roof above our heads I am mending I am mending Something underneath my ribs That I thought was only dead I learned the name of every child Elena, Marcos, Ren I learned which herb goes in the pot And when the rain comes in I planted seeds I cannot name In soil I do not own And watched them break the surface Like a fist becoming open palm And the days accumulate Like stones inside a wall And I am building something That could stand or it could fall I am mending I am mending Not the wall, not the garden Not the roof above our heads I am mending I am mending Something underneath my ribs That I thought was only dead I was afraid that staying Meant surrendering the search But the search was just a circle And the circle was a church Where I worshipped my own absence Where I prayed to my own pain And the mending is the moment I step out into the rain And let it touch me And let it touch me And let it wash the salt away I am mending I am mending And the world is not a wound It is a hand that holds a thread I am mending I am mending And the road is still out there But tonight I choose this bed This table These faces This bread
