A Poem

Once,

I thought to write a poem

Was to pluck up a truth like a pebble,

Then tumble it ‘round in your mind

Until it rolled off your tongue

Clean and shining.

Once,

I was gifted a rock tumbler.

I collected pebbles.

And it collected dust.

I could never find the heart

To tell a stone to change.

Maybe a poem is a pebble –

One that gets stuck in your shoe.

One you give your best friend for good luck.

Or carry around in your pocket

Until it hatches.

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