When the church purchased the building that shared the back wall of the education wing, I had visions of it becoming either a youth activity center or the new home of our food pantry. The day the keys were handed over to me, I went into this obviously limited but amazingly cool space. Long and narrow – barely twenty feet wide and ninety feet of open floor with a cast iron spiral staircase in the very back – it drew me in.
What held me was the wall of exposed brick, a hundred years or older, with slap-dab mortar slopping out between the rough red masonry. The bricks all were stamped with an eight-pointed star, a logo, and the name of the defunct and forgotten company. Every brick of a piece; uniform red, uniform shape. But for the one with the fatal flaw.
One brick among the many had obviously been handled roughly. A corner of the brick, about a quarter of its length, was broken away. The mason had simply tapped the brick into place, slapped on extra mortar and kept moving.
I considered that one brick for a long time. I don’t know how long.
In it I found my own failure.
a rock covered beach
ocean waves lift and drop them
every stone a voice
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Haibuning at dVerse Poets Pub with guest artist… host, qbit (Randall). The prompt is One Self, En Masse. Come along and see what all that entails!