Allison Grayhurst
Because it is a Stone
Because it is a stone
the fire hits it, moves around,
changing shape like a wave.
Because grief is not a word
that counts footsteps or encapsulates
the butcher’s madness, just builds like
a deep stagnant pool of a pond – one drop,
one drop, rising.
Because all the vegetables have not been picked through,
and more people hold compassion than they do hate,
the tree can grow, the fountain can flow up and make
a statement of solidarity, a sound
peaceful to those who are near.
Because the robin keeps coming back
to sit on my lawn, stares at me and waits
for my greeting before moving on.
Because hope is red eyes stinging,
but sight unimpaired,
and the darkening shadows darkening
the day-to-day landscape drift –
sometimes far away.
Because there is early morning, peppermint tea,
and love abides in everything living,
I can walk another step, another day,
bury the corpse of a treasured friend,
and place something beautiful
(a stone, a whisper) beside the grave.
