Worry Stone

a poem

i’ve got a worry stone in place of a pocket watch 
and it’s keeping the time
hangnails snag on denim as these hands reach deep
searching for that smooth line
run my thumb along its endless edge
it is everything
and nothing
this worn down rock
that i found in the creek that day 
after the blood wouldn’t quit 
and i lost who i’d been
i imagined myself on the bottom of the riverbed
let the water carve out my edges
smooth out my blemishes 
make me worry free
hair floating like seaweed
but there is no weed in creeks 
and i’m suspended 
in a liminal space
day dream
worry stone smoothed by my grief 
remember this and
set me free 

Summer Interior, 1909 by Edward Hopper

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