Feldspar

Dusty and dirty

Found at a quarry

Among thousands

and thousands

of rocks.

 

Into the bucket

Instead of ‘chuck it’

It rode home

with 54

other friends.

 

Dirt down the drain

To wash off the stain

of earth

and creation

itself.

 

Millions of years

For me to get near

to this speckled

pink and black

beauty of the bedrock.

 

Pink but not soft

Black but not cold

It’s smooth and craggy

at once

hard in my hand.

 

“Feldspar granite”

I name it

letting my professor agree

waiting

for it to come back to me.

 

Back to my hand

My new baby goes

Pink but not soft

Black but not cold

I hold it close

to my heart.

 

I cradle it gently

Forgetting that creation took

Millions of years

pounds

degrees

 

Only to be broken

Put in a pile like the rest

And waved away as a rock.

Feldspar went through hell

To end up in my hand

Still

Pink but not soft

Black but not cold

Smooth, craggy,

Gleaming, hard

And ultimately

Loved by me.

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Rocks

I’d like to think

we’re all a little

like rocks

Changing forms under pressure

Giving in

to the heat of the moment

And, eventually,

decomposing,

wearing down to thousands

and thousands

of little pieces

With the secret hope

that in a million years

I might be something

new again.

 

Or,

maybe instead of

million of years

that all happens

in one lifetime.