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Stone work
Christian Century, Jan 15, 2008 by Angela O'Donnell
Stone work I know the one I want when I find it. Turning them over, like tortoises, rubbing their ridged underbellies, their curves, their pocked histories of love and grief, I palm the one that speaks my other name, the one whom I become this still moment, lead-light, soft as chalk, right as spring after weeks of needling sleet, the dumb tomb. I run my tongue along its edges, taste the sharp consonants, the gush of vowel, the salt that grits the honest surface, telling its years in the still pool of tears. A stone in a heart made of sorrow, a node in a kidney (gorgeous agony), a missile thrown to break the martyr's skull, a stranger at the gates of the body's love. I press it down hard in the good dirt next to the one I loved best yesterday, assembling the poem, stone by sudden stone, faithful as flesh to its house of bone.
COPYRIGHT 2008 The Christian Century Foundation
COPYRIGHT 2008 Gale, Cengage Learning