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Thanks y’all! Have a Goodin’
jP
I spoke to a rock
sitting in the mountain
stream.
Introduced myself.
I asked if it had ever
heard the metaphor
about its role
in the family.
It said no.
The rock told about rushing
waters, gully washers
and slowly being pushed
downstream.
The rock told of
how it used to
be way up the hill
and how one day –
it hopes to see the river.
It asked why I was
visiting, and I told about
my son, who was afraid
to move, about my wife
scared and determined.
I told about the railroad
and how my family, mind
and body suffered.
The rock told of how
it misses the greater
mountain that
it was a
part of –
and how once it fell
down a steep slope
and broke off from
a boulder &
how its edges used
to be pointed and sharp.
I told the rock –
I play music and write
about where I used
to work.
It asked
about that locomotive
whistle it hears
in the night –
echoing in the hills.
I told the rock
that haunting –
eerie, lonesome
sound is an old
tired, worn out
metaphor greatly
used by poets,
writers
and musicians.
We sat
quietly
together.
I listened to the
waters gently
trickling over
the rocks.
When I got up
to leave, the rock
said,
come back
someday –
I’ll still be here.
Maybe just a little
further downhill
and a slight bit
smoother.
