I would like to think
I am not a pebble on God’s hand
Being rolled from one wrinkle
To another ...
But that I
Have a pocketful of
Pebbles myself
That I could juggle
So carelessly
And let the dull stones
Fall if they wish
Through squints in my fingertips
As I cup my hands
In anticipation
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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