What’s Like StonesThe pie dough we make my birthday weekend. “Mash it until it’s little pebbles,” my friends says. Fingers in the butter and flour and water, breaking something down to make it again. * Three gifts a day from the barred rock hens out back. Mostly in their little nest of hay. Sometimes, when the hens slip their fence, hidden brown treasures, fragile, underfoot. * The blue sapphire that shone from my hand for fifteen years, platinum circle bent, never broken. Now it sits inside another circle, hollow jewelry case. Waiting for something. *
This bit of my chest, my breast. Not heart. Above it. Tiny round pebble of skin or gland. Maybe something else. The technician’s pointed touch: Does this hurt? Does this?
About This Poem: Written in about four minutes. I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour. That’s all. Added: Appointment went as good as could be hoped for. I go back in a month for follow up. Good news all around. -fingers crossed-
About Poem-A-Day: For the month of April (National Poetry Month), I’ve signed on to write a poem-a-day (eeks!). To make it slightly easier on myself, my rules are that I have to write each poem in fifteen minutes or less, and that I have to post it here on the blog as soon as I’m done. No edits. Just rough. Raw. Right out of the gate. (Of course, if you’re playing along, I hope you’ll post a link to your poem in the comments here — mainly because I’m selfish and I want to read them!)