You are the stone thrown
into the depths of my river,
the subtle unsettling
upon my surface.
As you sink below my water,
don't fear that you may disappear
like all the secrets beneath--
from you the
stillness in my bones
ripples out and echoes sweet
from the deepness
that lives inside.

Skipping stones
And broken bones
And memories long gone
A summer through
Like me and you
As the leaves change on
I remember now
And it's my vow
To forget of all we've done
But I can't say
Within this day
To regret all or none.

Let's pull those knees close,
and think of childhood.
We were fragile beings of light.
Now we're heavy black glasshouses
throwing skipping rocks in the dark.
I wish I went to sleep-away camp,
like all the cool kids.
I could skip rocks,
and learn slip knots,
and maybe how to swim.
Sit by campfire
and tell scary stories,
and spill my first kiss
as the truth in a guts game.
"It was third grade.
She was a ******* girl-
and we wanted to practice
for our shared boy crush.
Baby tongues danced
and I just liked it more than I should have."
And then someone would
douse the flames
with a bucket of lake water,
to put an end to the horror.
Today she's having a baby,
and we haven't spoken
since grade school.
I wonder if she ever reads my poetry.
The kids would have teased me.
Or perhaps never believe me.
The holes keep getting bigger.
They let the light in from outside.
Let's let our knees go.

when I was in the fifth grade
we were told to put our names on notecards
and to pass them around the class
so that each student could write
one nice word
about each of us in turn
and I had a crush on a boy
and I wrote "nice" on his notecard
and he wrote on my notecard
"mediocre"
and to this day my heart doesn't know
if it is more in awe that he knew such a word
or if it is offended and crushed
and five kinds of hurt
and boys are dumb anyway
and I constantly wonder
how mediocre I am

My eyelids feel like stones,
skipping water,
but I don't know how to swim.

After a lot to negotiate
toing and froing
you exchanged your teeny heart
for my bag of 18-something stones

I carried it home in a hurry
much lighter than I expected
for what looked like a big cherry
it was shaking when I checked it
I worried at its odd little quivering
a bit timid and nervy
like a leaf blown from its tree
but happy to have a new owner in me

I nestled it carefully
in my mother's best white sheets
but was scared to see
it start to bleed quite a bit
not that it might die
but about what my mother would say
about the red in the laundry
and what she might tell her mother
if she got it back needing a doctor

I decided to pat it
with a towel to keep it dry
no even better
shower it each day
keep it a bit moist
sprinkle it with Eau de Toilette
every morning blow it a kiss
like having a sweet pet
to greet after I shave
I wanted to rub my hands with glee
but it needed treating with kid gloves
and exercised in carefree handling

but first I had to squeeze it
not hard in case it burst
just in the middle bit
around its plumped up waist
it felt soft and squidgy
and beat quite quickly
not like my stones

I wrapped it up in a cooler
using styrofoam
aluminium foil
and a brown paper bag...

Styrofoam is a good insulator
and will keep the love from oozing out
the aluminium foil is a heat reflector
and the paper bag  I am not sure about
but grocery stores offer them
to put your ice cream in
so it doesn't melt as fast

I had a meal of cheese on toast
then returned to check my box
your heart was not there to be seen
isolated in polystyrene
O dear I wished I'd cut a window
giving it room to see it grow

but then I spied you in the garden
painting stones to a wondrous glow
so lovely I traded back my carton
and your heart lit up inside for me

Spoken words hurt you much more