Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #196
I Find
by Belinda Roddie
I find a stone, and it feels cold in my
palm, smoothed out by the ocean tipped with foam.
I find a bone picked clean by birds that fly
from crest to crest, from cliff to cliff. They roam
so freely, so unhindered, and I feel
just a little bit envious of them.
I find letters from my mother, still sealed.
I never opened them. I find a gem
that's loosened from its ring. I find a cracked
and empty saltshaker along the road,
and it proves useless in my kitchen back
home. I find quatrains and a silly ode
my father wrote, and somehow, all I hold
are little nothings that, like me, grow old.
by Belinda Roddie
I find a stone, and it feels cold in my
palm, smoothed out by the ocean tipped with foam.
I find a bone picked clean by birds that fly
from crest to crest, from cliff to cliff. They roam
so freely, so unhindered, and I feel
just a little bit envious of them.
I find letters from my mother, still sealed.
I never opened them. I find a gem
that's loosened from its ring. I find a cracked
and empty saltshaker along the road,
and it proves useless in my kitchen back
home. I find quatrains and a silly ode
my father wrote, and somehow, all I hold
are little nothings that, like me, grow old.
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