The Pebble: a poem


I was plucked by some strange hand
And now turn gently, my smooth skin brushed over and over
Suddenly flung into space
I felt my body cast through time
And air kiss my face
Soaring across waves like mountains
Touching down
Once, twice, three times
Only to be propelled faster and further
Skirting and skimming the wet pull

Until at last, enveloped
My resonant ripples reaching miles
And even the shore from which I came
Sinking deeply
Into dark, grey and blue
Looking up I thought, I must be home now
I dropped down, not knowing when the ground would come
If it would even find me
The rushing, cool water
Seemed to stroke and strum a drum inside
Alive like never before And then I saw the wondrous world beneath the ripples
So graceful it haunted my very breath
Not rushing
Not racing
But allowing time to pass
Vivid bubbles
Blues like lights, flickering and dancing
Falling so fast
My old life seems far away
My own weight is my force and trajectory
My destiny inside me

Floating surely but gently
Into a bed of seasoned sinkers
I rest down now
Maybe when I get to my destination
I’ll be greeted by friends
“Isn’t it quiet?”
“And dreamy?”
The ripples above dissipate slowly
The watery ceiling safely seals itself again
And me
Within its depths.


(Photo by Toa Heftiba)

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