A Cast Burden
This is an old, heavy stone. Chosen for its color and shape,
plucked from the earth and carried for decades. Rubbed
smooth with soft hands, corners rounded and formed,
it fits you. I have seen secret places you keep it (front pocket
of some favorite jeans, the bottom corner of your handbag,
under a pillow during winter), always hidden, but accessible
and convenient. Ready to be lifted out and over head when
most unexpected. You have covered this stone in rarefied
elegance and loving modesty, masking any insidious intent.
But I feel the shiver from its shadow pass over my heart,
an awkward stillness, while my words are stunted before
being breathed away. Mounting pressure as it sways in
a discerning arc, twisting on an unseen string, tied loose
to your index finger, always waiting for the inevitable
snap and fall.