sticky stones 



we say they gather nothing
as they roll 
(moss, or otherwise)
but what if we surmise 
that they gather all?

stream droplets and moon 
shine and the drunken breeze 
that sends them spinning

or the sea glass shards that 
keep them sitting fast 
in their own decline. 

they gather tears, assemble 
years. collect dust and muster
up old truths. the proof: 

the way they stay. get cast. 
last eons. stand tall and sometimes 
green and seen. build cathedrals,
thrones. get thrown by angry hands. 

they’re carved and caved and pocket
-saved, pebbled thoughts held fast 
and tossed into the sea. and we,

(so like them and unlike them), 
worry our fingers across their faces 
and smear the moss that grows 
as warpaint on our cheeks. 

::
Attempted for day 7 of NaPoWriMo.

This entry was posted in NaPoWriMo and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to sticky stones 

  1. Shawna says:

    “worry our fingers across their faces
    and smear the moss that grows
    as warpaint on our cheeks”

    Holy mess, that is good.

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