Worn Smooth

 

Worn smooth,

like pebbles

tumbled in the turbulent

rushing waters of a

raging river.

 

The rough edges,

rounded and shaped

by the currents hurling

the pebbles downstream,

to the delta.

 

A basin of smoothed

stones, under the water,

no surface resistance

left, no hard-craggy faces

of stone muttering their complaints.

 

The pebbles and stones

driven hard against

each other, against the water,

against the ravages of time,

come out clean on the other side.

 

A stone picked up off the river bank

by a curious child,

and put onto a bedroom dresser,

under a photo of a smiling family,

“A Day at the River”.

 

A smoothed, worn stone,

a reminder of time’s passage,

of memories lost in the haze

of human time. In the river

of human memory.