Day 8
Poem 8

I’m posting this a day late but I wrote it yesterday. I’ve been writing a lot of character poems, so this one is more about me.


I took it with me, the rock,
dark, mottled, round, smooth as
an egg. I was once a girl
with a box full of pebbles
but I kept this one away
from the others.
No museum giftshop treasure
labeled with its name, no pyrite
in a leather pouch. I took it
from somebody’s mother’s garden,
hid it cupped between my hands.
I worried she would miss it.
When someone came for it,
they might unearth
other stolen things, buttons,
half-used chalk secreted away.
No one searched for it, though
it was important. It meant more,
the rock with its crack down
the middle. It warmed to my touch
and I waited for it to hatch.


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