I stand at the start of a wall
it stretches out before me,
it turns and curves,
bends and swerves,
like an undecided snake, trying to find its way.
I walk over the brick
worn down by the soles of others who have trod before.
Names on a wall.
All I can see are names.
Rows and rows and rows
of names.
I stop.
And turn to face the granite,
my hand outstretched,
until I touch the cool, smooth stone,
I feel the grooves and sharp angles,
where the granite
was chipped away
to make a name.
Slowly, I trace each letter with my forefinger
when I am done,
I begin to walk away.
I am stopped,
by the sight
of my own face
reflected like a mirror in the stone,
standing
with the names
for an instant,
I am among the fallen.
I begin to think
not of the names
but of this one name
and Mr. and Mrs. Someone
who gave this name away
all those years ago.