Rock Solid


The rock tells me a fable
As I turn it in my hand,
A thing so ordinary
Most people would pass it by.
Its history is a mystery
I cannot yet understand.
More like a riddle, really.
It's been broken down by something.
Waves crashing on the shore?
Or has it died a thousand deaths
And burials before?
Was it born here on Earth?
Or some distant, dying star?

Its core is pink and sandy and dull,
Pocked like an old diseased bone.
But it speaks of warmer oceans,
A tropical-weathered home.
The thing that most enchants me
Is its decorated skin,
Like medallions pressed into it
That give it a little spark,
Pearly next to grey,
Contrast upon compliment
Stand out both light and dark.

The only thing I know for sure,
It arrived inside a box
Sent to me by my sister
Who lives so far off.
She knew I'd love it more
Than the rarest of all gems
For it has been touched
By her fine artistic hand,
And her thoughts flew out towards me,
As she brushed away the sand.

I want to take a chisel
And pound the thing apart.
But she knew I wouldn't hurt it
It's so priceless as it is.
It connects us heart to heart.

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