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Mineral
May 8, 2011
He's stuck in a murky mosaic the
Other rocks seem to manage as they just
Ramble.
His complaints muffled.
The others shimmer a repetitive tango but
I know it's just the tide.
Tricky,
But warm and solid.
I consider this old man in my hand.
Every rip,
Every rupture.
Each a narrative wound that keeps bleeding.
Tossed deeper
But always pulled back in.
As frustrating as it may be,
Bound to a miserable wait.
As the years slowly decay what is left
As he sheds his dated veil
And the brackish water strips his flesh,
Eroding till he is just
A pebble.
© Shira B., Marblehead, MA
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