Windows - 7 (Love's Labour Lost)
As he wrapped his fingers round the haft and tightened their grasp, his forearm muscle’s strands united, bound themselves to bone and were, by that movement, married to intention. His fingers felt the weight, and the fiber of the arm responded, hand to wrist to elbow, the arc of his strength raising the sledge again.
The same arm curled around his woman’s waist as they moved together. The same arm caught up his infant daughter, held her warm against his chest. The same arm opened a door; the same arm closed it.
The fiber as though reed become rail drove its root down from his chest into the earth, from the earth rose into his chest. The head of the mallet swung as a pendulum forward, marking time; as a pendulum back, but with a powerful ripple the knowledge of weight crossed his shoulder, the memory of the hammer written across his back and, instead of slowing, the man’s frame urged it on, drawing a slow circle upward as he straightened, the steel stone following.
The same shoulder that lifted a body he thought might return to life. The same legs that hurried as though they could catch breath. The same urgency that gave life, and left it.
… and the hammer passes its height: both hands for a moment engage. Both arms, for a moment, snap to attention, lock body to that burden. The back arches. The chest hauls forward, carrying its heart, and right behind it, the rounding mallet. Now hand in hand with gravity, man and planet help the circle close, the sledge is sped, the loosening grip expects the impact, the cords of muscle relax, the breath sighs out, the mallet lands.
The same arm buried his love. The same legs walked west. The same breath shrugged in, shook out.
With the sound of clattering bone the stone surrenders, its form returned to dust and rubble. In the wall, the outline of a breach takes shape. A fracture of light squints from the opposite side. The work of undoing has begun.
"Wall" by Teodor-Stanciu Tiberiu @ deviantart.com